


Wishful Thinking

by itsrainingcats



Series: Honeybees and Willow Trees [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Morgana (Merlin), Bees, Drinking, Fae & Fairies, Flowers, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Magic, Nymphs & Dryads, Pining, Plantbending, Plants, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Social Anxiety, Soulmates, Wholesome, beekeeper Merlin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-02-22 14:28:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 44,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22717504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsrainingcats/pseuds/itsrainingcats
Summary: Merlin is a beekeeper who lives in a cottage just outside Camelot with his cat. He also just so happens to be a plant nymph with magic that blossoms in tune with his emotions. Prince Arthur pops by unexpectedly for some honey and things escalate from there.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: Honeybees and Willow Trees [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1741273
Comments: 261
Kudos: 836





	1. A host, of golden daffodils

There was a knight sat at Merlin’s table, gloved hand gently carding through his tabby cat’s fur. Said cat was purring delightedly, the filthy traitor, rubbing her white-dipped chin against the knight’s hand as though this moment of affection was so rare, she had to treasure it. This, Merlin knew for a fact, was a lie. Merlin frequently sought out affection from his cat, indulging her with heaps of catnip and empathetically patting his lap to entice her into cuddling. Dragoon, however, didn't usually purr for Merlin. Not unless food was involved. So, it was typical that a complete stranger who had waltzed into Merlin’s house, uninvited, dressed excessively in metal (really, there could very well be a penguin underneath the armour for all they knew) would impress her.

Merlin assessed the situation briefly, unsure on what to say or do. He wished his magic extended to pausing time, in order that he might gather up the dirtied tea towel flung unceremoniously across the table, scrub away the wine stain on the counter, sweep away those dreaded spiderwebs in the corner – and take a brief refresher course on how to socialise.

But alas, Merlin had no control over time. He did, however, have a smidge of plant related magic. Not that _that_ was helping right now. Plants leaked out of broken pipes, burst through his brick floor, frantically clambered up the walls. They peeked themselves through any and every nook and cranny available, whispering amongst themselves about the strange knight and wondering why he was there.

 _Master never has guests,_ noted a nearby daisy.

Yes, Merlin thought, and this was precisely why. How on earth was he supposed to explain an infestation of flora to a knight? He considered running away, anxious about whether this would be proof enough that he was part plant nymph. Camelot was not exactly forgiving to those gifted with magic. But Merlin couldn’t help it! For as long as he remembered, flowers had tortured his every living (and sleeping) moment.

_Burnt your tongue? Passionflower. Panicking over forgetting someone’s name? Forget-me-not. Step on an ant? Lily._

It was hopeless.

They would trail after Merlin, weaving through paving stones to record whatever he was feeling or thinking, diary sprawled across the ground. It was a wonder, really, that nobody had yet noticed his relationship with plants. Although, there were certainly suspicions about where and why plants that were out of season or from a completely different climate were suddenly popping up all across Camelot. That was why Merlin, guided by his mother, had taken the wise decision to move out of town and become Camelot's beekeeper. Obviously. That was also why Merlin could not run away… well, that and Merlin’s realisation that this would mean abandoning Dragoon.

“Can I help you with, er, something?” he managed in a quivering voice.

The knight looked up, apparently astonished to hear that someone had entered the room. Annoyingly, the patch of sunlight that had drawn Dragoon to the table earlier that day was now bouncing off the knight’s helmet and straight into Merlin’s eyes. He squinted hard and quelled the sunflower that was threatening to spring through a crevice behind him.

“Yes, I’m here for some honey,” said the stranger.

And that was so unexpected that Merlin didn’t quite know what to do. He had a sign, of course, advertising honey outside the cottage, but nobody ever exercised the invitation. It wasn’t out of rudeness – leaving Camelot was risky business and every Tuesday Merlin set up a stall in Camelot market anyway. There wasn’t much point, he supposed, in coming all this way just for honey.

“Oh, well, I have honey. Which. I am a beekeeper, so. Yes. You came a long way for honey?”

Realising that fake-confident eye contact was impossible with the sun targeting him in such a way, Merlin walked shakily towards the pile of dishes. He thought back to his latest talk with Gwen about anxiety. _Focus elsewhere, pretend you’re talking to yourself._ That’s okay. He could do that. He could wash the dishes and talk to a knight of Camelot. Who had come all this way. For honey.

“I didn’t- I’m not just here for honey. I was out and about, you know, and then I saw your cat and noticed the sign,” the knight spluttered.

That did make considerably more sense, Merlin reasoned as he picked up a plate. Aloe Vera curled one of her white, freckled tendrils around his wrist, silently offering to wash it for him, but he tapped twice against her to signal no.

“What’s your name? Thought I knew everyone, but I haven’t seen you around before.”

It was at this moment that it occurred to Merlin that this knight, like many, was probably a bit of a prat. After all, how could anyone claim to know everyone in Camelot? There were hundreds of people that lived there.

“Merlin. I-er, I only really go to Camelot on Tuesdays.”

There was an awkward pause in which Merlin wondered if he was supposed to care about what the knight was called and ask the question back.

“Arthur,” the helmet grunted back, apparently realising Merlin was socially inept.

Merlin frowned. After the prince was born, Arthur became a popular choice for babies in Camelot. He could list three off the top of his head, though one of those was too young to be knighted, having turned three last Sunday, and another was the blacksmith’s apprentice, leaving…

“Arthur the baker’s son?” he asked, a touch aggressively. There was a pesky lump of dried pastry that simply would not be washed off the plate, no matter how vigorously he attacked it was a sponge.

“What? No. _Arthur_. The Arthur,” said ‘The Arthur’ in an affronted tone.

This presumptuous attitude confirmed Merlin’s suspicions. Why, he would never dream of referring to himself as ‘The Merlin’, even if he didn’t know of anyone else that bore his name.

“As in the prince. Prince Arthur. _Your_ prince, Merlin.”

The plate, now free from any pastry, made a raucous clang as Merlin dropped it. The Aloe Vera hastily rectified the positioning of it. The prince. Prince Arthur. Well, he was _the_ Arthur, Merlin conceded. He paraded around Camelot enough for everyone to know his name, no wonder he had told Merlin who he was without being asked. Gods. Royalty was in his house. Royalty was perched on one of his frail wooden chairs, cooing at his cat. Surrounded by his magical plants.

“I guess that does explain the armour then,” he said finally, focused on washing a mug. “Aren’t – you know, your majesty, you can take off your helmet if you want, it- well, it must be stuffy in there?”

Arthur was blatantly taken aback by this, for he leaned back, making the chair creak uncomfortably under the weight of his royal ass. It felt like a valid question, though, given the blistering heat of early July, what with metal being heavy and conductive. Merlin certainly didn’t fancy sniffing the prince when he was wearing such an impractically hefty outfit on a day like this.

“Well, yes, but I _am_ a knight. And a prince. So, it’s, er, well, it’s compulsory.”

Hesitance. For the first time, Merlin could hear it in his voice. He passed the mug onto the Aloe Vera, who smugly found it a place on the drying back. Merlin turned to speak properly to the prince (the prince!) who, thank goodness, was so besotted with Dragoon that he failed to notice this blatant sign of non-human powers.

“You must be used to sweating then,” he mumbled, then, remembering that this was _the prince,_ added: “Would you like a drink while I prepare your honey? I have tea, lemonade, whatever really.”

The helmet turned to face his direction and Merlin’s hands flew to protect his eyes from another blast of sun. Surely armour such as this was impractical for camouflage. The criminals in the local area would have to be incredibly daft not to hear or see such clunky, silver forms, let alone the animals the knights hunted. Armour felt horrendously outdated.

“Lemonade would be fine, I suppose.”

Merlin huffed out a half-laugh, “Glad to know that lemonade is adequate for royalty such as yourself.”

And oops was that out loud? He regretted talking as soon as the words left him. Merlin had a habit of thinking before he spoke when he was anxious. Habit of living alone. He felt his face heat up with embarrassment and rushed into the larder, relishing in the cool chill of the room. That was not the way to speak to the future king. That was the way you speak if you’re looking for a fight. What a _clotpoll_.

His hands trembled as he picked up a large jug of lemonade and tried to ignore the anxious voice snapping in his head as he staggered out to the kitchen. He was Merlin. He was cool. Lemonade would not be a ‘thing’ in these parts had it not been for Merlin feeling particularly bitter one day over a bird snatching his bread (it was a rough day). And his lemonade was pretty superb – a beautiful balance of lemon, honey, basil, mint and rosemary. Merlin wasn’t sure what ordinary people did in their spare time, but he went through a phase of experimenting with various herbs to come up with this recipe.

He tried to steady his hands as he poured a glass of lemonade. (For the prince. The prince of bloody Camelot). Fate, however, was not on his side today and a ridiculously loud ‘achoo’ from across the room startled him so much that he jolted the jug forward and spilled some of the contents onto the counter. Merlin inhaled sharply, wiped the glass with a cloth and passed it to the prince before any further injury could be taken.

Arthur nodded awkwardly, cradling the glass, but made no movement. Feeling like a complete idiot, Merlin realised that obviously Arthur couldn’t drink with that massive helmet on. There were, however, some convenient drinking straw sized holes in the metal around the mouth area. More convenient than that was Merlin’s straw collection. Bamboo was one of the more useful plants to grow, even if it did serve as a reminder of feeling lonely and hollow. Merlin spent half his time cutting bamboo down, it was a horribly invasive plant. Camelot had initially been confused by the invasion of bamboo (bamboo spread quickly, it seemed), but brushed aside any and all concern when the woodsman pointed out that it could be weaved into baskets or even chairs.

“You can remove the, um, the helmet, can’t you? Only, well, I, er, I could get you a straw. In fact, yes, I should definitely do that considering you’re the prince and I, um-”

He paused his nervous twittering at the sound of the prince snorting. The audacity. Dragoon apparently found this equally amused because she rolled over on the table, exposing her white tummy and wiggling her feet in the air.

“What?” Merlin squeaked indignantly at the pair of them.

Merlin watched in horror as Arthur tickled Dragoon’s tummy. Instead of nipping him of showing any ferocity, she rolled onto her front with a loud purr and permitted him to scratch behind her ear. Great. His cat trusted a complete stranger above him.

“I can take the helmet off, you dung beetle. I just- well, the, uh, the other knights, probably Gwaine come to think of it, drew on me while I was sleeping in a field and I didn’t have time to wash before I got here.”

Deciding not to question why Arthur, heir to Uther’s throne and generally important person, would sleep in a field, or where the nickname ‘dung beetle’ had come from, Merlin tried his best to look serious.

“So you-, what, have a penis on your forehead?”

Arthur coughed, “Perhaps. I have told them to grow up, but they never listen.”

“I can get you a washcloth, if you’d like?” Merlin offered.

“That would be appreciated.”

Merlin dashed away to retrieve one, glad to have an opportunity to snicker freely. Gwaine was actually a friend of Merlin’s and he was impressed that he had picked such an important target. _The_ Arthur, of all people.

Returning to the kitchen, however, Merlin halted in his tracks. Of course, the townsfolk had flattered Arthur, boasting about his mane of golden hair, chiselled cheekbones and beautiful blue eyes. The man in front of him did not meet those expectations. For a start, the prince had a phallic picture that spread from his nose to his royal forehead. Secondly, it was clear that Arthur was not lying about napping in the field. There was dirt smeared behind his ears and on his chin and his hair, however golden it may be, was shining more from grease than nourishment. Merlin wasn’t close enough to comment on his eyes and wasn’t entirely sure what ‘chiselled cheekbones’ actually meant, but he judged that the prince was pretty okay. Not a god, not someone to spin long and wistful sonnets about. Just pretty – pretty _okay_ , that is.

A droplet of water dripped from the washcloth, dissolving into the soft petals of a freshly sprouted amaryllis. Arthur, thankfully, had failed to notice the birth of the flower or Merlin's staring. He was, once more, distracted by the cat. Merlin rushed over before any other plants would expose his magic and passed the washcloth over.

“Thanks,” Arthur murmured, taking it from him and pushing his hair back to dab at the obscene image furiously, cheeks flushed. Merlin had to give it to Gwaine, he wasn’t sure how the prince couldn’t have woken up while such a large picture was being drawn on him.

Merlin bustled over to the cupboard where he stored his honey, “No problem. How much honey do you want? There’s 340g in each jar.”

Arthur shrugged, “Three should do.”

Merlin eyed his cupboard warily. It simply wouldn’t do to present the prince with a jar that was anything less than perfect. He picked up a jar and examined it, making sure there was no honey oozing out of the top or chinks in the glass. Yes, that would do very well. If his honey impressed the prince, business would, surely, boom - people were always dying to inject parts of the royal lifestyle into their lives.

“I, uh, I’m surprised your servant didn’t get it for you," he thought out loud, assessing the next jar critically.

“Oh, it’s actually a goodbye gift for my last servant. One for him, one for my sister and one for me."

The thoughtfulness of this gesture surprised Merlin and he supposed he had misjudged the royal family. Arthur had an apparently _endearing_ (Gwen's words, not his) reputation of misbehaving and letting his servants take all the blame for his actions. His record paled in comparison to Uther, however. According to Merlin’s friend Freya, the king was once so unimpressed by the wine he’d been served at dinner that he cornered the servant who had poured the glass and drank their blood instead. Whether this was true was doubtful. Uther had never struck Merlin as a vampire.

“That’s kind of you – buying your servant a gift, I mean,” he said, and hesitantly settled the jars in a bag.

“Not really,” Arthur paused to sneeze. “He’s incredibly irritating, treats me like a child. I thought he needed something to sweeten him up, especially after leaving last night and probably getting him fired.”

Merlin secretly thought his servant had a pretty decent reason to be annoyed then. After all, he couldn’t quite believe that the prince had time normally to sleep in fields and buy honey. Didn’t he have knightly duties or something?

He thought it best not to voice this, however, and scooped up Dragoon instead. Dragoon growled lightly at him, flashing him her sharp little fangs. Merlin glared back and deposited her on the windowsill before any further complaints could arise. She stretched her legs in front of her and lay regally, tail whacking the Aloe Vera as she greedily absorbed the sunlight.

Arthur watched him, irked that the cat had to be moved when he was quite content petting it.

“You have a nice cat,” he said, somewhat frostily.

“Thanks, most people in Camelot hate them at the moment,” Merlin replied, twitching the lacy curtains by the window back even more to ensure that light pierced the prince’s eyes in petty revenge for the helmet blinding incident.

“That’s down to me, actually. I’m allergic, so Morgana spread some garbage about cats being associated with witchcraft or something.”

Merlin’s pulse quickened at this and he whipped around in alarm, half expecting to see the prince covered in oozing boils or struggling to breath. Arthur may have had a couple of spots on his chin but he neither had bothersome swellings nor an issue with breathing. In fact, he seemed to be in perfect health, though that did not quash Merlin’s concerns. He was now convinced that it was prince etiquette to appear unfazed by any potential danger. It made sense. Why else would he wander into a stranger’s house for honey or sleep in a field?

“You’re allergic to cats?” he cried out.

Arthur shrugged lazily, arranging his face into the same ‘what-does-it-matter’ face Merlin himself had pulled when a little girl had accidentally destroyed an entire month’s supply of honey by kicking a ball into his market stand.

“A bit. I’m hardly going to die, Merlin, I just sneeze and get itchy eyes.”

Merlin strode to the table to inspect Arthur for himself. Now he mentioned it, the prince’s eyes did look a teensy bit redder than before. He glanced frantically between Arthur and the cat, as though he were calculating the distance required for an allergic reaction. Arthur watched on, greatly amused. The twitchy nature of Merlin reminded him vaguely of the rabbits in the fields. They were skittish creatures too, always on guard, pointed ears poised upwards until a tell-tale movement in the grass would motivate them to bolt, cotton-tail bobbing as they dived towards their burrows. He liked watching rabbits.

“But-I-you, I should remove her from this room, at the very least,” Merlin wheezed, flapping his arms around ludicrously, as though that might somehow magic the allergies away.

“Nonsense. As prince, I order you to leave her where she is,” Arthur said, stretching his arms out behind him. “My eyes are just as sore when my father brings up marriage, but you don’t see me evicting them from the premises.”

It was strange to hear Uther’s name being dropped so casually. Stranger, still, to imagine getting forced into marriage at such a young age. True, Merlin considered, he probably should think about love and marriage and all that more. Lancelot and Gwen were already married, after all. But the only men Merlin met near his house were bandits and he didn’t much want to marry any of them.

“You’re getting married?” he asked, hoping this wouldn’t count as prying.

Arthur took a long sip of lemonade before answering, “According to him, yes. It’s my princely duty.”

Merlin furrowed his brows, trying to calculate how marriage would align with being prince. Arthur’s birth right was a sort of job, he supposed. A job that mostly entailed making tedious speeches that Merlin never bothered to turn up for, hosting parties Merlin would always avoid, flaunting around on a horse and partaking in masculine activities, such as jousting, that Merlin would actively steer clear of (Merlin was horrifically clumsy and knew that if anyone would die by accidentally falling onto a sword, it would be him). Any job with ‘get married’ under the description was something you should run away from. Quickly.

Apparently, his confusion was not at all masked to Arthur, who sighed dramatically.

“A marriage offers Camelot a peace arrangement, allegiance, celebration, and an heir.”

“Oh,” Merlin winced at the horrendous prospect of being forced to make a baby with someone you didn’t even love.

Arthur stood up, making the chair squeal dangerously, an equally disgusted look plastered to his face.

“Well I’d better go before they send out a search party. Thanks hon- I mean, thanks _for_ the honey.”

He picked up his helmet and put it on. Merlin’s sympathy quickly turned to infuriation as the light from the curtain struck on the helmet again, staining his sight with orange coloured patches.

“Thanks for coming all this way for it,” he shrugged. “Safe travels your, uh, royal highness?”

Arthur reached for a scarlet cloak that he’d apparently put on Merlin’s coat peg upon entrance. The very appearance of a cloak seemed elaborate in this weather but hey, maybe the blue blood of royalty really did make him reptilian?

“I didn’t come all this way for that, it just happened to be on the way,” Arthur muttered, but there was the ghost of a smile in his voice as he secured the cloak and gathered the bag in his arms.

“Right.”

“I’m sure we’ll meet again. There’s a ball soon, you know?” Arthur said, reaching for the door handle.

This, quite frankly, bewildered Merlin. Why would Merlin go to a ball? He lived a fair walk away from Camelot. Alone. With his cat. Where he made honey and grew flowers. Nothing about him screamed ‘remote beekeeper during daylight, suave dancer in the night’. Come to think of it, Arthur probably had met everyone bar him in Camelot, given how many functions he hosted that Merlin purposely avoided. Huh.

The door shut, interrupting Merlin's thoughts, and the prince was gone.

It took some effort for Merlin not to peel the curtain of the front windows back and watch the prince charge back to his castle. Merlin settled on pouring himself a generous glass of mead and contemplating everything out loud. _First sign of madness, talking to yourself._ Gaius’ voice sounded in his head. He’d warned Merlin that moving out here would, surely, lead that way. Dear Gaius, the only person who Merlin trusted enough to tell about his magic other than his mother. But Gaius wasn’t here, so he couldn’t judge Merlin for going crazy.

“A knight, the prince, and he wanted _my_ honey.”

True, Merlin was the only beekeeper in this area and frequently sold honey to servants, so it was probable that the royal kitchens used his goods all the time but whatever.

Dragoon hopped off the windowsill, stretching her white-socked paws with a silent yawn before ambling towards him. He pushed his hands against a crack in the table and let the affection magic a spurt of catnip to shoot through the gap for her.

“Good thing we’re not royalty, hey? Don’t think you’d do well, marrying a Tybalt,” he murmured. Dragoon eyed him for a moment, as if to question his sanity – she was far too important to consider marriage. “And goodness, I’d make a miserable husband.”

It was true. Merlin struggled with socialising at the best of times. His ventures into Camelot to sell honey allowed him to at least visit his friends, Gwen, Freya, Gwaine and Gaius, but he hadn’t made any ‘new friends’ in a terribly long time. It was as though his life had paused from the moment that he’d moved out here. His friends were growing up, growing old. Gaius’ excellent reputation as physician meant every time Merlin visited, he’d have plenty to share about various unusual and bizarre patients. Gwen was married (though Merlin had yet to meet Lancelot) and planning to have children soon. Freya owned a bookstore which grew in popularity every time Merlin stopped by. Even Gwaine, despite still being a regular customer at the local tavern, was knighted last year (and apparently was now drawing dicks on royalty). Meanwhile, Merlin still found himself exhausted by having to speak to customers for one day a week. His own mother had encouraged the move, and Gaius reluctantly agreed. Merlin’s magic was strengthening by the year.

Merlin stood up abruptly, knowing it best not to think too hard about any of that, and found himself walking outside, into his garden. The usually pleasant tones of lavender sweetened the air too much today and everything felt too stiff, as though someone had trapped the air in a jar, leaving the world parched in the humidity. Snapdragons of crimson, yellow and white grew, clumsily out of cottage walls, eloquently on the ground, mushy petals curling like they were laughing in reminisce of an old story. The foxgloves towered above them, trumpet-shaped flowers with speckled interiors in gentle shades of the palest pinks and purples. The cosmos’ petals seemed slathered with lilac paint, the work of a heavy-handed artist who had ruined their work with a colour too vibrant. Though the bees didn’t mind, clambering messily down the petals in a race to reach the bobbly yellow centre, then buzzing on to extract nectar from the next plant. They were busy, of course, always busy, dangling off the starflowers, whose cobweb like stems glowed silver in the sunshine, zigzagging through the various herbs and blossoms, then making their way back to the hive.

Merlin passed through the garden without concern. Perhaps the bees could sense his parents’ blood in him, for they had never stung him, seemed disinterested in the human who would summon flowers in exchange for their honey. But today even the bees, darting hither and thither with such purpose, such order, suddenly seemed too loud and busy for Merlin.

He crouched down in his vegetable area, feet sinking, collapsing earth around them so it crumbled around his toes. Merlin inspected a nearby carrot, thumbing along the green leaves that sprouted out of the top. Strange, he considered, to be a carrot and wake up submerged in soil with only the top of your head poking out. He could sense the potatoes, beginning to wake up in their darkened chamber of soil to the left of him. His father could only control flowers and his mother trees, but Merlin had a flare for anything that grew.

Merlin stood up and brushed off his trousers, trudged on until garden merged into field. There was something calming about walking with his back to the daunting walls of Camelot, staring out at the vast expanse of woodland and field. The sky was a cornflower blue and the clouds dissolved into meaningless scatterings of white that wandered by in a time of their own. He found himself running now, hands grazing the long grass, swimming in a haze of green.

It was then that he noticed a glint of silver in the horizon.

“Arthur?” he called, but the figure didn’t turn, and Merlin supposed it could be any of the knights.

Still, without consciously realising it, Merlin ran towards the form in the distance. The stream was not far from here. It struck him that the knight, whoever they were, was probably there to patrol the forest. Just as he got near, however, the knight in question fled on their horse in the direction of Camelot.

The stream ran across the side of the forest, like a boundary between the realm of humans and magic. It whispered secrets to itself in such a hushed tone that you had to hover just above the surface to decipher what it was saying. It was foolish not to take heed of the water. Even the knights were cautious about crossing or stooping too near to it. The forest was home to strange folk and the water its guardian. Many had fallen to temptation, risking their lives to eavesdrop on whatever the stream was gushing on about, and not lived to tell anyone its secrets. The water’s gossip was more fatal than the charming dulcet tones of a siren.

The edge of the stream was, incidentally, also the home of Merlin’s mother, who had shifted uncomfortably after giving birth and declared herself a willow tree. It took a trained eye to approach the twisted abstract form and see the woman that lay underneath the bark. Her green hair swayed as he sat down, subtly acknowledging his presence. His mother might not be able to talk to him, or even see him, but what remained of her at least recognised and guided.

“Hi,” he said to her, quietly. “It’s me again, Merlin.”

The tree made no movement, though if Merlin looked at the bark long enough, he could pretend that the deeply set wrinkles in it moved to smile. He shifted to sit, cross legged, on the bank, careful to avoid the water that bubbled and murmured next to him.

“The prince brought-” A terrible thought hit him. The prince had _not_ brought the honey – he hadn’t even mentioned payment – he had waltzed in, petted his cat, drunk his lemonade, taken the honey and hurried away before Merlin even thought to charge him. “The prince _accidentally,_ probably, possibly, hopefully, stole some honey from me today. What’s new with you?”

Again, the tree offered no response, though a long strand of her leaves floated towards him in a comforting motion. She did this, sometimes, when she was trying to say something. Like when Gaius had told Merlin that staying in Camelot was dangerous – her leaves had pointed him in the direction of the cottage and Merlin knew what he needed to do. He watched her leaves move through the windless air, a stroke of green, and wished, not for the first time, that she could speak.

“I don’t think he meant to steal it, even if he is a bit stupid. He wasn’t mean to me. It’s been warm, hasn’t it? You’re lucky to be in shade and near water and stuff. Do you feel warmth as a tree?” Merlin clapped his hand to his mouth, horrified that he’d asked something so insensitive, “That was rude to ask, and stupid, obviously trees feel the temperature – my bamboo complains about the slightest-,” He broke off, astonished to feel a gust of wind.

Merlin was about to point out how uncharacteristic the breeze was when the willow’s leaves pointed to a cluster of fluff that seemed to be carried by the wind.

Without conscious thought, Merlin stretched himself forward, moved by invisible strings, and his fingers enclosed the fluff. A horrible thought struck him as his fingers clamped around the fluff. What if it was a fairy that he’d just trapped? The gust certainly didn’t feel natural and he knew that some variants of fairy could be small and puffy. And, moreover, had his mother not reached out to the stream – probably to warn him. Catching a fairy was one way to get yourself killed for certain.

He opened his hands, body trembling in fear, only to find that there wasn’t a fairy there at all. In fact, and he giggled at the realisation, it was just a cluster of dandelion seeds, feathery white ends clinging to his hands helplessly. He loved dandelions, adored how they would change from a tutu of white to striking yellow.

Merlin lifted his hands and exhaled gently, intending for the seeds to continue their journey and find a new place to settle. Inspecting his hands, however, he saw that none of the seeds had drifted from their position. Frowning, he picked at one, but his fingers couldn’t quite catch the end of a seed. He tried again but to no avail. Lifting his palm, he realised, with mounting fear, that the seeds weren’t just stuck to his palm. They had fused themselves to his skin, attached themselves so firmly that they could not be removed.

“I can’t get the seeds out of my hands,” he cried to his mother.

Peeling his gaze away from his hands, he saw that the willow leaves were now dancing around frantically, as though in a nervous jitter of their own. He’d never seen her so lively, so energised, but Merlin couldn’t work out what it meant. Excitement? Terror? Anger? Woe? He stood up, shaking, and backed away.

A flash of silver returned, and quickly morphed into a knight, but Merlin couldn’t handle that – not now. This was dark magic. Dark, dark, magic. He ducked under the grass and ran home, each footstep marked by the birth of a golden daffodil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this! I've been reading a lot of Merlin/Arthur fanfic recently (there are some really beautiful fanfics on here, I applaud you all) but haven't ever written my own, so it's all probably a bit meh, but let me know if you want me to post anymore of this. Hope you're all having a lovely Valentine's Day (or non-valentine's day if you're not reading this on the 14th)!


	2. The crescent of a lavender moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I wanted to quickly thank everyone who sent kudos and/or left comments, really appreciate how lovely you've all been. Hope you enjoy this chapter. It's a bit here and there but hopefully should set the scene for the rest of the fic x

Merlin was doing great.

Really, _really_ great.

Fan-flipping-tastic.

It had been several days since the grand ‘prince and dandelion seed’ extravaganza and, thus far, zero (0) fairies had strangled him in his sleep. If anything, his life had grown even more boring and ordinary than it used to be. Before, he could at least claim that this was the calm before the storm. Before, he didn't have any expectations. Before, everyday was predictable and peaceful. He’d experienced what was probably the greatest excitement of his entire life and now it was over. Happily ever after. Was it bad that Merlin felt somewhat disappointed? Even the fairies had better things to do, it seemed, than abduct or slaughter Merlin.

Ten years from now, he’d be babysitting Gwen’s children and they’d ask him to tell them a bedtime story and, in a raspy voice, he’d recount how the prince stopped by for honey but forgot to pay, show them the dandelion seeds (probably still embedded in his hands, he’d been picking at them to no avail this week)... and they’d pull faces at him and whine ‘but Uncle Meeeerlin, you’ve told us that one at least a thousand times before’.

Merlin felt restless, impatient, horrendously bored. Aside from one stray lilac bush, which erupted in Merlin’s garden soon after he finished washing Arthur’s lemonade glass, even his magic seemed tired. Balsamine, a plant with wide stretching green leaves that, quite frankly, overwhelmed the pathetically small pink flowers that hid between, was the only dominant flower that insisted on following him. 

So, it was really no surprise that by Tuesday morning, Merlin had assigned Dragoon the role of a wise and ominous dragon to coax him into even bothering with going to Camelot today.

“How small you are for such a great destiny, human,” he roared on behalf of Dragoon, who was sat on his dresser cleaning her paws. She was waiting for her breakfast, which seemed to be delayed by this improv drama session.

“Why, what do you mean? What destiny?” Merlin squeaked, clutching his hands to his chest, scrunching up his pyjama top.

“Camelot, Merlin, that is your destiny today.”

The effect of this line was ruined by Merlin tripping over the trousers he’d left on his floor last night. Recalling that a true actor never makes mistakes however, Merlin pretended that the move was intentional and kneeled in front of the dresser smoothly.

“I don’t see what Camelot has to do with me,” he cried up at Dragoon, then lowered his voice again. “Without you, there will be no honey in Camelot.”

Dragoon, to be fair, actually did glance over at Merlin when he read her line, though it was probably more out of annoyance at the ridiculous noise he was making than interest. She jumped down from the dresser, casting one final weary look in his direct, and padded away to the kitchen, apparently deciding it best not to play up to her human’s antics.

“Despair the world?” Merlin asked the ceiling as he flopped back onto his bed. The ceiling stared back at him, providing no answers. Merlin supposed that if the ceiling could talk or even gesticulate, that would be concerning. Merlin also supposed that he should probably feed Dragoon, then head to Camelot before the market was over.

Dressed in a coarse blue shirt and red neckerchief (or stupid neckrag as Gwaine preferred to call it), Merlin headed to Camelot half-an-hour later.

The sky was forget-me-not blue, clear of any trace of clouds, for which Merlin was _not_ _thankful_. There was no barrier to protect the world from the sun’s mirthful rays, which scorched the earth and prickled at Merlin’s skin uncomfortably. Sweat dampened his shirt and Merlin found himself discarding the neckerchief for the first time in his life, securing it on his honey cart. He considered beckoning a large oak tree to offer him momentary shade, but knew that a move such as that would arouse suspicion (oak trees don’t tend to appear overnight) and would take up too much energy to be worth it. Instead, his eyes glowed gold as he encouraged a few wild strawberries to sprout out of the earth for him to eat.

Eventually, the gates of Camelot came into sight. Camelot. Merlin paused for a moment, catching his breath. His heart fluttered with what was either anticipation or anxiety, Merlin hadn’t decided which yet. He could already hear the sound of people, bustling about and calling to one another. His friends, Gaius, Gwen, Gwaine (lots of G names, why was that?) and Freya, were through those walls. (Arthur was through those walls. Arthur, with his stupid yellow hair and stupid pretty face and stupid interest in cats. Not that Merlin cared. Obviously). Tonight, he would sit in the tavern with Gwaine and catch up on the town gossip, pretend to fit in with the others whilst also quelling any drunken flower mishaps. The too sweet taste of strawberry lingered on his tongue, a subtle reminder that he was not, would never be, like them. He had to be careful.

“Hark, who goes there?” called the gatekeeper, startling Merlin into approaching the gates. Apparently loitering outside Camelot gates meant you were deemed suspicious enough to be ‘harked’. He had never been greeted this way before and wondered whether Camelot had upped its security.

“Merlin, um, here to sell honey.”

A honeysuckle flower sprung enthusiastically from underneath Merlin’s feet, as though trying to vouch for his word, sending him stumbling forwards. Fortunately, the knight at the gate didn’t seem to notice.

“Oh, great. My wife has been craving honey ever since she got pregnant.”

Thinking back to this morning, Merlin blurted, “Honey is my destiny.”

The knight gave him a weird look through the bars, “That’s cool.”

The gates opened and, after selling the knight a jar of honey, Merlin heaved his cart up the hill to Camelot market. As anticipated, the city was busy this morning. _Busy isn’t always bad_ , Merlin reminded himself. The bees liked to be busy. The bees liked to work and fly and have their own adventures. But the bees would always return to their hive. They would never abandon their colony to chase their own dreams. Camelot felt like that sometimes. Many didn’t bother leaving the hive, but those that did would always return. And Merlin didn’t even mind Camelot, not now that he was here. Yes, it was loud and there were people and a headache would most definitely form by the end of the day but the _noise_ , the _people_ , the _headache_ , all served as reminders that he was out here doing something. He could contribute something small.

All the same, why, oh why, did some prat decide to build Camelot on a hill? It was torture. Hills were torture. If Merlin was king, he would invest in a giant iron and press away hills. Every Tuesday, his thighs felt as though they were burning.

“Merlin!”

Satchel swung over one shoulder bulking with what Merlin assumed were books, it was a relief to see Gaius ambling in his direction. Gaius was like a father to Merlin, helping him to disguise his magic as best he could and teaching him to be kind, hardworking and patient through excessive lists of chores and regular bouts of wisdom.

“Gaius, am I glad to see you,” he sighed, coming to a halt to allow Gaius to catch up – because that was the considerate person Merlin was, he wasn’t feeling tired or waiting in the hope that Gaius would offer…

“I’m not pulling your cart,” Gaius announced prematurely, eyeing Merlin with disapproval.

“Come on, just for a minute! My legs might fall off.”

Merlin lifted his left leg to shake as evidence.

“They absolutely will not. You need to exercise more.”

This was not untrue. Dragoon exercised more than Merlin, and she was asleep for a good sixteen hours of the day.

“You’ve missed me then,” Merlin huffed but continued to pull the cart, nonetheless.

Unfortunately, Merlin found himself on the floor after just one step. A pink tulip had delightedly erupted through the ground the moment Merlin’s heart had leapt at seeing Gaius. Cursing, Merlin pushed himself up and brushed his hands against his trousers. He awaited a lecture over controlling his magic in public, but Gaius didn’t seem to even register the tulip.

“Is it my imagination, or is there something on your hand?”

Merlin frowned and looked at his hands, expecting a scrape from his fall. They were, however, the same pale hands that Merlin was used to. For a moment, Merlin assumed Gaius must have been making a rude remark over how dry they were – yes, he needed to use hand-cream more, but it wasn’t exactly top of Merlin’s shopping list – then he remembered.

“Oh, that. Yeah, that's just some dandelion fluff. Nothing to worry about, it got stuck to my palm a few days back?”

Thinking about it, he probably should have found Gaius as soon as the seed thing happened. He was by far the wisest and most knowledgeable person Merlin knew of.

“Has it not occurred to you that it could be part of your magic?”

Merlin bloody hoped not. How awkward would that be if he started absorbing every flower that happened to touch him? He’d disintegrate into a pile of petals in days. His mother had, of course, morphed into a tree, but that had been an active decision on her part. This did not feel like an extension of his own magic.

He shook his head resolutely, “I don’t think so. My skin sort of absorbed it by the river.”

The word ‘river’ made Gaius pull his snowdrop-white hair in urgency, “By the river? This could be dark magic, Merlin. Have you noticed any differences in yourself? Felt ill at all?”

Ill. Right. Was talking on behalf of your cat a symptom of anything? Considering how tragically often Merlin did it before the dandelion incident, he decided not.

“No, I’ve been in perfect health. It’s been disappointing,” he shrugged.

They had just arrived at the market and, despite the early start, it was already overflowing with people. The echoes of a fishmonger yelling the prices of cod and trout mingled with the irritated snapping of sunburnt men and women, shoving against one another, determined to leave the market as soon as possible. The aroma of pasties and cakes emitting from the baked goods stand opposite Merlin’s stall had attracted a thick crowd that bubbled with excitement at the goods. Merlin had to force a path through to reach his stall, Gaius tailing behind him. He clenched his hands around the cart and focussed hard on _not_ permitting vines to spring from the earth, the temptation to form a wall between them and the swarm of consumers already strong.

“Disappointing? You could be dead. You _should_ be dead if it’s a fairy that did this,” Gaius scolded Merlin once they had safely got to the selling side of the stall.

“Thanks, Gaius. Ever the ray of sunshine,” Merlin deadpanned, starting to unpack the honey.

Gaius rolled his eyes at Merlin and picked up a couple of jars of honey, stuffing them into his satchel. He claimed to buy Merlin’s honey ‘for the sake of medicine’, but Merlin had once caught him wearing a honey facemask, and since then heartedly believed that Gaius went through two jars of honey a week purely for making masks with.

“I need to consult my books. I’ll find you later.”

Merlin lifted his head from where he had been arranging honey, “Are you going to pay-no, no, you’re gone. Okay.”

For an old man with a limp, Gaius could move surprisingly quickly when he wanted to.

*

Market had been long and tiring and Merlin _stunk_. Although the marketplace offered a degree of shade, the throng of people moving through it filled the air with sweat and anxiety. Earlier, a woman examined a jar of honey for fifteen minutes and then didn’t even buy it. _Fifteen minutes_. Merlin didn’t have anything on the jars except ‘honey’. Despite the masses of people, sales were slow but, in this sticky weather, Merlin could understand a degree of reluctance to buy honey. He was beginning to wonder if he should quit selling honey and become a professional lemonade maker instead. The very thought of lemonade made him groan, it was too hot to think of such a luxury.

Merlin was about to pack up, planning to dump his cart at Gaius’ place and visit Freya’s bookstore, when he saw a familiar face in the crowd.

“Gwen! Come for some honey?”

Gwen was looking lovely as always, dressed in a lavender coloured gown with brown curls cascading down her back. She was perhaps the kindest person Merlin had ever encountered, keeping Merlin together whenever he felt as though he was falling apart – which was a lot.

“No thanks, Lance already got me some earlier.”

“What? Who from?” Merlin asked immediately, baffled at who Lancelot could have obtained honey from. He wasn’t aware of having competition in Camelot.

“ _You_ , silly. Uther’s been on edge with security since the ball was announced, so he’s the guy patrolling the gates. I forgot you hadn’t met before.”

So, that was the elusive Lancelot. Merlin thought back to the man at the gate earlier. He seemed nice and was definitely good looking, though Merlin wished now that he hadn’t told Lancelot that honey was his _destiny_ , for goodness sake. How lame was that? Instead, he should have threatened him and made sure that his intentions were good – that would have been slightly more cool. Merlin had been disappointed to miss their wedding. He was ill with what felt like the plague (but was only the flu according to Gaius) on the day.

“Ugh,” Gwen winced, hand smoothing over her stomach. “Ignore what I just said, I need more honey.”

She picked up a jar, opened it and sunk a thumb into it. Merlin raised an eyebrow but supposed it was good advertising to have someone eating the honey next to the stall. Besides, he’d probably be doing something similar if he had a human growing inside of him.

“Oh – congratulations by the way!”

Gwen smiled, glancing at her bump proudly. He had no doubt that she’d make a fantastic mother.

“Thank you. They’re going to be the sweetest baby ever.”

“Gwen,” called the Lady Morgana from the dress stand, gloved hand running across a fabric. Why Morgana felt the need to wear gloves at this time of year was beyond Merlin. Perhaps it was a royal thing to dress inappropriately.

“Blast, I’d better go.”

Gwen disappeared into the crowd of people, taking the jar with her. Whilst Merlin felt delighted that his honey had a healing effect on his friend, he also mourned the third unpaid pot of honey. Folding himself into his arms, Merlin despaired, “Will someone _please_ pay for their honey?”

 _Cough_.

Merlin peeked through his arms. Arthur (shockingly not dressed in chainmail or adorned with a penis on his forehead) was towering over his stall. Prince Arthur. Twice in one week. What were the odds of that? His presence had not gone unnoticed by the market, who respectfully left their prince a wide berth, but less respectfully were ogling at him. Merlin had no idea how anyone could put up with being stared at like that.

“I, er, forgot to pay you. For the honey. Seems I’m not the only one. You need to grow a backbone, Merlin, stop being such a daffodil.”

Merlin blinked. Was _he_ getting reprimanded for _Arthur_ forgetting to pay?

“Sorry?”

“It’s just – if I’m not the only one that isn't being charged, you won’t stay in business for long,” Arthur explained, holding his hands up reasonably. A few people speculating nodded at each other, as though Arthur had just spread wisdom with his condescending words. 

“Thanks for the tip, your highness,” Merlin said through gritted teeth.

“No problem,” Arthur half-turned, then hesitated. “The castle needs to order more honey. For the ball. Obviously. It’s very important.”

Was it? Gwen hadn’t mentioned the kitchens needing honey earlier and yet she often spoke with the staff down there. Besides, Merlin couldn’t think of why they’d require honey in the first place. He delivered an order there a few weeks back that should keep them sustained for a while. A ball was hardly an appropriate place to be having honey on toast. Moreover, why on earth would they send Arthur instead of a common servant here?

“Clearly, if they sent the prince to get it.”

Arthur looked flustered, hand rubbing his ear distractedly, “I was on my way down here anyway.”

Wasn’t he always? Still, Merlin picked up a few jars. Business had been slow today and any orders – even ones that seemed mildly dubious – were appreciated.

“Of course, sire. How much do you need?”

The prince frowned at him, perplexed by the question.

“How much honey?” Merlin clarified.

“Er, I think a few jars should suffice, you know, the usual amount. Forty? Fifty?”

That was most definitely not the normal amount. Merlin decided to take the benefit of the doubt. The kitchens could, after all, be making a honey-based dessert, and it wasn’t like he’d refuse such a large order in a hurry. Still, even Merlin had his limits. It was the end of the market day and despite being slow, he didn’t have his entire stock free.

“I have twenty jars left from today. I can bring more down if you need them?”

The onlookers were not best pleased with Merlin's stockcount and tutted amongst themselves. One woman actually booed at Merlin.

Arthur pointedly ignored them, “Twenty should be adequate. Possibly. I’ll check with the kitchens. You’ll be here on Saturday for the ball, right? I can send you a message, if we did need more.”

“I can deliver them whenever, not exactly doing much. I probably won’t be going to the ball.”

This warranted such an exaggerated gasp from the crowd that Arthur turned around and politely requested that they move along. Merlin had gone from anticipating more customers because of Arthur buying his honey to worrying that he’d get rocks thrown at his stall the next time he was spotted at the market.

When they had dispersed, Arthur folded his arms, looking comically similar to a toddler that hadn't got his way, “You have to go to the ball. Everyone in Camelot is ordered to go.”

“I live outside of Camelot,” Merlin pointed out and couldn’t resist smirking at this loophole.

“Yes, Merlin, but you sell in the market, ergo you are a resident of Camelot.” Merlin’s smile fell.

He didn’t do balls. True, he hadn’t ever actually attended one, but that made his anxiety even worse. Most people his age knew how to dance, how to dress, how to act in that situation. Merlin was usually in bed by eight. Merlin only knew the dance of the honeybee… in other words, he knew how to dash around frantically.

“I don’t have a date… or clothes or… or.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow at him, “Or a decent excuse not to go? It’ll be good for you to go. Besides, you don’t need a date _and_ I know for a fact that you have clothes. You’re wearing some right now.”

Merlin glanced down at his ensemble of trousers, shirt and shoes (the neckerchief remained in the cart). It was hardly the sort of thing one wore to a ball.

“They’re hardly fit for dancing in.”

“You look fine,” Arthur said, voice strangely soft. “Between us, I don’t much like balls either. You could borrow some of my clothes, I suppose. You know where I live.”

Merlin’s eyes flickered up at the castle that towered over the market. Yes, he was fully aware of where Arthur lived. Everyone was. It was hard to miss the obnoxiously big building. Once upon a time, Merlin had dreamed of living in a castle and being a prince. Now, he couldn’t imagine much worse. Being like Arthur meant constantly having to train to be someone you didn’t have a choice in being, having the public watch your every move, and getting forced into hosting balls. Arthur didn’t need the additional duty of encouraging annoying beekeepers into attending said balls.

“I can probably buy new clothes.”

Arthur seemed enthused by this response, “That’s a better idea. My clothes would be massive on you.”

“Right,” Merlin nodded, unsure on whether that was an insult or not.

“Money – how much do we owe you for all of this?”

After some quick mental arithmetic, Merlin billed Arthur enough for twenty-one jars of honey. And if Arthur _ever so slightly_ overpaid to cover the expense of purchasing ball clothes without informing Merlin, Merlin would assume it was an accident. Arthur was a prince. It would be inappropriate to pay for the clothes of a commoner like Merlin. Wouldn’t it?

“Are you quite sure you can manage?” Arthur asked, eyeing Merlin’s skinny arms as they headed back to the castle with the cart of honey.

“I’ll be fine. Thanks for the concern.”

Arthur, oddly enough, disappeared when they reached the kitchens, muttering about needing to speak with his father. The kitchens were puzzled at the order, which they couldn’t remember placing, but shrugged and said that they assumed Arthur was hinting at them to make honey pudding. Merlin didn’t much care about that. He cared more about the substantial payment he’d received from the order. The number of neckerchiefs he could buy with that amount… or food and a suit… was impressive.

“Or you could buy us a round of mead,” Gwaine pointed out in the tavern later, beaming.

“Fine, but only for us. I’m not getting drinks for the whole bloody pub _again_.”

Last time Merlin offered to buy a round, the entire pub was suddenly his friend and people he’d never even spoken to clapped him on the back as they gleefully announced to the landlord to ‘add it on Merlin’s tab’. He’d returned that week with only cat food and had been forced to survive on potatoes, lettuce and raspberries.

Gwaine chuckled lowly, “Fair enough, mate. Mm offended though. Arthur threatened to uninvite me from his ball the other day, you know, s'why’s he so insistent that you go?”

“Dunno. Was that before or after you drew a dick on his forehead?” he mumbled, downing the remainder of his mead.

“Good point. I suppose he does need some moral support right now. S’not like he wants to marry.”

Merlin hardly considered himself first choice for moral support. He’d only spoken to Arthur twice. Now, if Arthur had requested Merlin to bring Dragoon with him, he’d understand it more.

Mistaking Merlin’s confusion to be about marriage, Gwaine expanded, “Arthur’s meant to be scouting out a future bride, or groom, I guess. Uther thinks forcing your son to marry is less of a chore if it’s done romantically.”

Merlin didn’t much consider balls romantic. It seemed to him that everybody was acting at a ball. You were at your most dishonest, dressed in fancy clothes, dancing and paying false compliments whenever conversation dulled. Then again, wasn’t romance based on delusion? Fortunately, Gwaine was spared the existential crisis on this when Merlin realised the implication of what he’d said.

“Arthur likes men?” A sprig of lavender crawled up the table leg and prodded Merlin in the arm as he said it. His eyes gleamed as gold as the mead as he made the lavender retreat.

Camelot was not in the middle ages. Human rights had evolved before technology and, aside from the ban on magic, it was a safe place to live for everyone. But even so, Merlin knew that royalty was a few steps behind everyone else (or was ‘traditionally endearing’ as King Uther called it). The knights still wore chainmail for goodness sake, it was ridiculous.

“Not sure. Bit heteronormative to assume though, isn’t it?”

Merlin raised his empty glass to this, “Fair point. Right, next one is on me.”

He gathered their cups and went up to the bar. The innkeeper, Sid, was a man who age had not treated quite as fairly as Gaius. He snarled at Merlin with three teeth – he’d lost the rest of them in various bar fights. Grimacing back, Merlin ordered them another round, trying his best not to draw attention to himself.

“Is it true ‘bout Arthur, boy?” Sid asked, slowly picking up two glasses and taking his time to clean them with a dirtied tea towel. “That he bought honey from you?”

“Oh, yes. The honey pudding ball- I mean, the honey is serving ball pudding, or, oh, you know.” Merlin said, a mixture of anxiety and alcohol making speech a struggle with anyone vaguely unfamiliar.

Sid didn’t seem to care. He dropped the tea towel on the floor and placed them on the counter. Empty. Merlin eyed them warily. Generally speaking, he preferred to drink visible mead.

“And the girl, Guinesneer or whatever. You know her?” Sid inquired, shooting glances at a woman a few seats down who Merlin assumed must have gossiped about Gwen.

He pushed the still-empty glasses forward to hint at Sid that they would actually _really_ like some mead.

“Gwen? What about her?”

His sneer widened at knowing something Merlin did not. “Morgana fired her an hour ago.”

“Why?”

A pit of dread opened in Merlin’s stomach. What if it was Gwen, talking to Merlin instead of assisting Morgana, at the market earlier that made her redundant? A thistle wormed its way through the bar, nudging the glasses further forward in their haste. Merlin was too distracted to even bother stopping it.

Sid leaned in, obviously not interested in thistles or serving drinks tonight, “Cos she’s knocked up, so they moved her to the kitchens.”

“She wasn’t fired then, just relocated?” The innkeepers smirk vanished, and he quickly filled Merlin’s glasses.

“Your drinks.”

Merlin was always sceptical about gossip from the tavern, but this felt too specific to be pure fiction. Even so, it seemed odd that the castle would move Gwen for being pregnant. Morgana got on well with Gwen, never mistreating her or showing anything other than fondness. Clunking the cups of mead on the table, he decided to ask Gwaine about it. Gwaine had always proved to be a reliable place to go for castle gossip.

“You hear about Gwen?”

Gwaine took the drink appreciatively and took a long sip before answering, “Cheers. Yeah, Gwen’s not bothered, mate, it's only temporary.”

Relief warmed Merlin and he let himself take a large gulp of mead. At least Gwen was alright. That was all that mattered. He supposed that maid duties were physically exhausting. Gwen had to change sheets, wash clothes, bring up breakfast, help Morgana to change outfit, rush about here there and everywhere to send messages, run baths and accompany Morgana on rides. Besides, if it was temporary then Gwen _couldn’t_ have been in any real trouble.

“Oh, before I forget, the gates shut at twelve now. New protocol,” Gwaine informed him, voice hopeful as he eyed Merlin’s glass with interest.

“It’s half twelve now, you prat.”

“You’d better run then. I’ll take care of that.” His hand slid over to Merlin’s drink, but Merlin slapped it away and downed the remainder of the pint in one gulp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! x


	3. A rose is a rose is a rose

It was strange how different Camelot was at night. Streets, once packed with red-nosed people moving hither and thither to get about their daily business, fatigued by the intensity of the sun, were empty enough now for Merlin’s footsteps to ring against the ground. Merlin’s heart panged at the sight of candle-lit windows, people within washing up their dinner and getting ready for bed. He thought of the evenings he used to spend in Gaius’s house. By now, he’d be scrubbing the stew bowls clean and heading to bed, chest light as a daisy. Bed. Merlin longed for his bed now. He longed for opening the door to comforting quiet, the scent of wisteria and lavender, the buzz of the bees vibrating through the cottage, echoed in the purr of Dragoon when he fed her dinner or breakfast. The alcohol felt heavy in his stomach, throat burning wickedly and warmly in the comparative chill that night offered. Gaius’s house wasn’t far, however, and though the moths scrabbled around the lamp that hung outside Gaius's house when he approached, Merlin was at peace with the fact that this wasn’t home anymore.

The cart rattled noisily as Merlin made his way to the gates of Camelot. He hoped that, despite the security upgrades, his passage back home would be clear. It was typical of Gwaine to forget to mention the gate curfew to Merlin, especially after Merlin had bought them a round. Gwaine hadn’t ever understood Merlin’s need to move out of Camelot in the first place and was constantly trying to convince him to stay, just one night more. Merlin’s life would be so different if he lived in Camelot. Maybe, in another universe, a place where magic didn’t slither through his veins, he would be a servant in the castle, a knight or the butcher’s assistant. But in this one, Merlin was content being the introverted beekeeper that lived alone with his cat.

Although there was someone patrolling the walls, it looked as though the gates hadn’t been closed quite yet. Merlin rushed to get through before he was spotted, but a pattering of footsteps led him to believe that he had not been quite quick enough.

“Excuse me. As clearly stated in- oh, it’s you.”

Arthur Pendragon. Again. Merlin was starting to think he was living in a fanfiction or something because surely two people in a city of this size would not bump into one another so much otherwise.

“Arthur? Are you following me?” he slurred, that last pint hitting hard. Merlin had always been a lightweight.

The prince looked taken aback, “What- no. Not everything is about you, Merlin. Is that alcohol I smell?”

Merlin didn’t think they were close enough for Arthur to smell his breath. He didn’t see much point in concealing it though, it wasn’t as though Merlin was underage or barred from using the Camelot taverns.

“Probably, I had a drink with Gwaine. I don’t think he’s sorry about the penis,” he reported gravely, then promptly fell into a fit of giggles. The image of Arthur, crown prince of Camelot, with a dick on his forehead was just too good, at least the mead thought so.

“I suppose it was an accurate drawing of himself at least."

Merlin frowned, “How do you know what his dick looks like?”

Obviously, he didn’t have any issue with what Arthur and Gwaine’s dick got up to, Merlin being attracted to men himself, but he still felt a pull in his gut. Probably the alcohol. A yellow rose weaselled around Merlin’s legs. Which totally did not suggest he was jealous. Shut up.

“I don’t! I meant he’s a dick, in general, not that his dick is like that. Not that it’d be your business anyway.”

“Alright,” Merlin said, holding his hands up and trying to ignore Arthur’s prominent blush. “Anyway, I need to be getting back to Dragoon.”

“Dragoon?”

Devastating. You think you know someone and then they forget the name of your cat. Merlin would most certainly not be telling Dragoon about this – it would break her little heart in two.

“My cat. Catch up, Arty.”

'Arty', for some reason, felt like a remarkably funny nickname to Merlin. In his glee, he stumbled over the rose and would have fallen to the floor had Arthur not caught him, hands reached around his waist balancing him.

“Please, never call me that. And no, you’re not prohibited to leave Camelot,” Arthur ordered in what Merlin considered to be a strangely authoritative tone.

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” Merlin said and winked. Actually winked. Even drunk, he realised how ridiculous this was and heat rushed to his cheeks. Arthur apparently thought it embarrassing too because he released him and took a few steps back, placing his hands on his hips.

Merlin distracted himself with picking the rose as Arthur began to speak, hissing as his fingers came in contact with a thorn. He’d never been a massive fan of roses before. They were overly cliched, the subject of too much poetry, impersonal, not to mention painful. But there was something regal about the folds of yellow, curling around each other like beams of sunlight, and Merlin supposed that pretty things often came with thorns.

“I-I’m the prince, Merlin. The knights would tell _me_ if someone was here. It’s dangerous out there. There’s no way I can let you wander out there alone, especially not when you’re drunk – you could be attacked or fall over or get lost.”

Merlin let the rose fall from his hand to look at Arthur properly, “Then, by all means, come with me. I can’t leave Dragoon overnight alone. That’d be irrespond-irresponsid-irresponsible.”

Arthur’s gaze hit the rose and he stooped down, carefully picking it up. His fingers twirled the flower around for a moment as he considered, not once hitting a thorn with his cautious movements. Merlin sucked his finger quietly, the taste of blood like copper on his tongue.

“I’m sure she’d cope until the morning,” Arthur murmured.

Then, Merlin was struck with a truly brilliant idea:

“Oooh we could bargain, if I stay in Camelot tonight then you’ll let me off going to the ball?”

Arthur started walking into the shadows, blonde head dipping into darkness like a quill in ink. Merlin worried that he’d offended the prince. He supposed if one of his friends objected so heavily to something Merlin had planned, he’d be irked. It was insensitive, cruel, selfish, of him to be so plaintively rejective of the royal ball. Heart thumping in his chest, Merlin prepared himself to apologise but the words were lost on his tongue as Arthur’s voice, unexpectedly soft, breathed out a gentle, “Come on, I will assist you home.”

“My hero,” Merlin quipped, stumbling after him with the cart.

Unfortunately, this stumbling was literal as Merlin again tripped over the roots of the rose, which were still embedded in the earth. Without Arthur there to envelop him in his arms, Merlin’s knees collided painfully with the ground. He groaned, feeling nauseous with tumbling in such a state. A hand waved in front of his face and Merlin grabbed it, marvelling in the momentary warmth before he felt himself be heaved up.

“Quite,” Arthur began, slipping his hand out of Merlin's grip. “I’ll take the cart, you focus on walking, you idiot.”

Merlin brushed himself down and walked parallel to Arthur. It was nice, he had to confess, not to have the cart following him. Merlin felt as though something was always behind him now – flowers, cart, shadows. Moreover, his knees were aching from the exertion of walking all the way to Camelot, standing up in market, and falling over. Still, the shame of tumbling to the ground in front of Arthur made him feel a strange prickling in his stomach, rose thorns brushing against his insides, red and bloody.

“Yeah, well you’re a dollop head,” he said, instead of voicing this.

“I was your hero literally ten seconds ago. What does dollophead even mean?” Arthur tittered.

Truthfully, Merlin wasn’t actually sure, the word had grown in his mind like a flower and it seemed to fit. There was something dollopy about the prince. A dollop of paint, a dollop of colour, a dollop of honey.

“You. If you look in the dictionary under dollophead, there’s a picture of you.”

Arthur turned his head, and Merlin couldn’t help but notice how his hair looked silvery in the moonlight, “I assume it means a kind, intellectual and remarkably handsome then.”

“Remarkably arrogant. You are a little bit handsome though, like a giant buttercup or… or the sun.” Merlin waffled, then slammed his hand over his mouth, realising he’d said all of this out loud. Even so, he considered it true. The sun was just as obnoxiously bright and yellow as Arthur… and had a way to make Merlin’s cheeks redden too.

“I’m glad you’ve noticed my hair colour.”

Merlin decided to change the topic, lest the topic be discussed further.

“What’s your favourite flower?”

Arthur glanced at him, bemused, “Never given it much thought, I’m afraid.”

Merlin had. Merlin liked the wildflowers, the ones that people considered weeds. There would be no awkward explanation for weeds appearing; they were daring even without Merlin’s magic, invading gardens and spreading insanely, bravely. He liked cow parsley, the hollow-stemmed flowers with umbrella-like clusters of white, dollopy flowers. He liked bluebells, how they drooped their purplish heads in perpetual lament. He liked clovers, how subtle they were, like little lamps in the grass.

As Merlin thought about the weeds, they grew around him. His magic was hard to control when he was drunk, easy to forget about. Fortunately, the night was dark and the prince had a habit, Merlin observed, of looking directly forward, taking long strides that made the cart chatter behind him, not used to this speed.

“Dandelions,” Arthur said, suddenly.

Merlin raised his head, taking a second to recall what they had been talking about. Dandelions. Merlin thought that was suitable.

“Like your hair,” He replied, thoughtfully.

Dandelions, with their crowns of honey-yellow; dandelions that turned white and puffy.

“Not always. I like how they grant your wishes, though I don’t know if I trust them,” Arthur reasoned.

Merlin doubted that they did. He’d wished on many a dandelion, mostly for love or fortune or something silly like that. Thus far, they had proved unsuccessful. Suddenly, and with a bolt of excitement, Merlin recalled his hands – his hands, with Arthur’s favourite flower stuck in them! How lucky was that!

“Oooh I- wait, no,” Merlin resisted the thrill. Magic was forbidden in Camelot and there would be questions if he showed the crown prince his hands, if he confessed to loitering around the river.

Arthur watched Merlin scrunch up his hand with curiosity, “No?”

“Did you know about Gwen? Morgana’s maid. I don’t think Gwen should be punished for getting pregnant,” Merlin said, quickly changing the topic.

A flicker of disappointment crossed the prince’s face, “She’s not. Morgana’s protecting her. It’s- it’s very complicated, Merlin, and personal.” Arthur huffed, “How do you take this to Camelot every week?”

Merlin shrugged. “S’ difficult. The earth here is bumpy.”

“We should build you a path.”

Merlin didn’t think that was a good idea. A path would attract walkers, who may well be tempted to stop by unexpectedly at Merlin's cottage for a drink or to use the toilet. A path could even lead bandits to his house. Someone tried to burgle him once, about half a year ago. In his fear, Merlin had conjured a hefty ivy plant to cover the door to his bedroom, where he hid with Dragoon. As Merlin’s money was stored in his room, the thief had left with only a saucepan. Merlin's favourite saucepan. Strangely enough they weren’t interested in lemonade or cat food.

“Dunno, people might walk on it. That wouldn’t be good.”

“That is generally the purpose of a path, Merlin,” Arthur scowled.

Merlin’s fingers twisted through the seeds of the quack-grass, scattering them into the gentle breeze. He wondered where they would eventually land, whether the earth would absorb them and produce another plant. It felt nice to have his hands free as he walked, especially in this darkness. Usually, Merlin would feel a sense of dread and anxiety while he walked home, afraid that someone would pop out of the grass and lunge at him. One time, he’d been walking home and accidentally stumbled upon a duck, who was not best pleased at being woken up by an idiotic beekeeper. That had made a racket and a half – Merlin ran the rest of the way home and smashed a honey pot in the process. Tonight, there was no noise. Silence could be scary sometimes, in certain situations. It could be eerie or awkward or pointed, but Merlin didn’t sense that now. Peace, he supposed, was epitomised when you felt safe despite walking home in the dark.

Merlin glanced over at Arthur, who had gone silent, apparently equally lost in thought. Merlin followed his gaze, directed towards the night sky. A full moon, Gaius had once told him, reflects the light of the sun, diffusing the very essence of night. The sun may be able to blind you, but people went mad from watching at the moon. There was something about the way it shone, unnaturally, mimicking daylight to fool the world with a shallow, weak sort of light. The stars seemed muted in moonlight, too, as though even they were dazed by the strength of their companion. Stories of men, twisted by the moonlight to grow fur and howl, agonisingly, at the swollen moon, had always terrified Merlin. There was something about losing your humanity to that false light in the sky that made him shudder, a loss of control as you forfeited yourself to impulse. Perhaps that was a consequence to growing up terrified of your own magic.

They reached Merlin’s house far sooner than he’d have thought. He let Arthur lead him through the gate, pointing to where he usually kept the cart. The front of Merlin’s cottage, smothered in gentle, purple clouds of wisteria that billowed in the moonlight, felt like a dream to Merlin in his drowsy state. He kicked his shoes off while Arthur fussed around with unlocking the door, impatient to climb into bed.

“Bloody hell,” Arthur cursed as the door opened and Dragoon shot out, immediately weaving herself around his legs. “Your cat scared me. Does she always do that?”

“Mm, I have her trained specially to startle knights and/or princes.”

Arthur chuckled, but scooped Dragoon up and invited himself inside. Merlin followed, wiping his eyes and trying hard not to fall asleep standing up. That would be embarrassing. He felt strangely soothed and warm, like a fire on a cold, winter night; the orange patch in a sunset in between sun and blank sky; hands cupping a hot chocolate.

Shoulders sagged, Merlin slumped into a chair as they entered the kitchen and watched Arthur bustle about, opening every single cupboard, apparently in search of something.

“What’re you doing?” he asked, voice raspy.

Arthur jumped slightly, equally sleepy, but waved a cup at Merlin, “Getting you a glass of water and piece of bread. You’ll thank me in the morning.”

“I’ll thank you now. I loaf bread.”

Arthur rolled his eyes at the pun but presented Merlin with a buttered piece of bread and glass of water, nonetheless. Merlin chomped the bread down eagerly, only now realising how hungry he’d grown walking home. It had been a long, hot day, and Merlin probably didn’t help himself when he replaced dinner with alcohol. Heather nosed its way around his wrists, caressing them with fairy-sized white bells. Smiling at it, Merlin then remembered Arthur – but the prince was half-way out of the room.

“Where are you going?” Merlin asked, anxious suddenly that he’d noticed the plant.

“To use your bathroom, then back to Camelot. I don’t live here.”

 _Oh_. Merlin felt both relief and disappointment twist inside of him. Of course, Arthur wouldn’t have wanted to stay here. He felt guilty that Arthur had even had to take him home, like a child whose parent had forgotten to pick them up from school. But the prince didn’t look angry or remorseful. Aside from the fatigue that kept making him rub his eyes and hide yawns behind his hands, he seemed comfortable, content even.

“Well, I know that but, er, you could, you know, stay? Right? It’s pretty late and the moon is particularly round.”

It sounded like a terrible excuse, even to Merlin, but the hour was late, and Merlin didn’t much want to be responsible for the crown prince losing his way home or getting ripped to shreds by a werewolf. He knew that he wouldn’t sleep a wink knowing that Arthur was out there, fighting his way through the shadows of the night. Merlin didn’t trust the moon, not when he lived ten minutes away from the woods, where fairies and goblins and strange beings dwelled. Besides, what if some idiot locked the gates and Arthur had to sleep outside all night?

“You’re scared of full moon?” Arthur asked, eyebrows raised.

“Gaius used to tell me bedtime stories about werewolves and evil spirits,” Merlin began, then realised that this was probably not something the knights of Camelot much cared about, “Is it pathetic that I’m scared of the full moon?”

“A bit, but everybody is scared of something,” Arthur shrugged, then left to find the bathroom.

Merlin sipped his water and thought about what he’d said. Freya was scared of moths, who apparently ruined late night reading sessions by battering about in the candlelight. Gaius had nightmares about his loved ones dying, and Gwen shuddered even at the mention of snakes. Still, Merlin couldn’t imagine what Arthur would be scared of. He seemed unshakeable, sturdy, competent. Everything Merlin was not.

Dragoon mewed at him. Dragoon didn’t have any fears either, Merlin decided as he refilled her food bowl. That was the purpose of a dragon though, wasn’t it? To be fearless and hoard gold and have horrific breath that made anyone nearby flee.

Merlin wandered over to the window and looked outside. The moon looked back at him. It made him feel small, sometimes, to imagine who and what could be out there. The stars, he thought, are the tiniest prickles of light peeking through holes in a black blanket, under which we hide. The sky shields; the sky protects; the sky covers. The moon offered a place to escape, a place to flee.

“You weren’t kidding about the moon thing,” came Arthur’s voice from behind Merlin, startling him. “Come on, let’s get you to bed then.”

Merlin followed him obediently to his bedroom. Arthur turned around respectfully as Merlin stripped, changing into a pair of pyjamas. Merlin didn’t have space in his brain to feel concern or worry about being this vulnerable in front of someone he barely knew. His room was soft, lit by the candle Arthur carried from the kitchen to in here, and he felt safe.

Merlin sat on his bed, sinking into the mattress, and tried to take off his socks. Tried being the key word. Tried and tired had the same letters in them for a reason. Accepting that he’d be unsuccessful in his ventures, he sighed and dropped his back against the mattress with a thump. Merlin liked ceilings, he decided. Merlin liked how nobody ever tried to do anything with them – their simplicity an asset, not a flaw. It was strange to think that this was the same ceiling he’d spoken to this morning, after he’d dramatised an entire destiny with his cat.

Something touched Merlin’s foot and he sat up, almost whacking Arthur in the face. Arthur apparently noticed Merlin’s struggle and took pity on him.

“S’funny for a prince to be taking my socks off.” 

“Don’t be getting used to it. Now, off to bed,” Arthur said, hand stroking against his ankles briefly as the second sock was removed, like a reverse Cinderella story.

“You should take the bed. I’m not a prince.”

Arthur didn’t look impressed with this idea. He was still dressed in his knight gear. Merlin’s sleepy brain mused about how similar the words knight and night were. He wondered if he should offer pyjamas, or if Arthur would just help himself, or if Arthur even preferred sleeping in his undergarments. Arthur was hardly shy.

“It’s your bed, you sleep in it. I’ll be fine on a chair,” Arthur said, gruffly.

Merlin shuffled to the side of the bed closest to the wall. Strictly speaking, Merlin didn’t have a ‘side’ of the bed. He moved about in his sleep too much for that, but he’d never shared a bed before and hoped that his body would respect someone being next to him and not move too much in his sleep. There was no way that Merlin was going to accept the crown prince sleeping on his chair. Merlin had tried, once, to fall asleep on it when he’d spent the whole night on a jigsaw puzzle and was too tired to stumble to bed – yet even then, it was _not_ the sort of chair it was possible to sleep on.

“It’s a _big_ bed, you can just sleep there,” Merlin pointed out, slapping the sizeable space next to him. “I promise not to stab you in my sleep.”

This promise was genuine, he didn’t tend to carry knives to bed with him.

“I’m too tired to argue,” Arthur relented, blowing out the candle and stripping to his undergarments.

A horrible thought struck Merlin now that Arthur had agreed – what if he accidentally punched Arthur in his sleep? Merlin had heard of people punching others before, too caught up in their nightmares. The anxiety of this thought bit at Merlin’s skin, like a cactus inside his chest.

Unaware, Arthur slipped under the covers next to Merlin, then sat up quickly, “Ow, Merlin why the hell is there a cactus here?”

“Sorry!” Merlin exclaimed and quickly removed said cactus.

Arthur breathed deeply through his nose, as though trying to contain something. Merlin realised that it was just laughter, and settled himself down, letting his head fall against the pillow. He rolled over to face Arthur, and silently brushed his hand against the mattress, willing any stray plants to leave them. A white poppy shrivelled away.

“You have to be the oddest person I’ve ever met,” Arthur breathed at him.

Merlin blinked in his direction. The darkness meant that Arthur was now a formless blob, emitting warmth from across the mattress. He closed his eyes, physically unable to keep them open from the fatigue, “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Mm,” Arthur rumbled back.

“Sweet dreams, Arthur,” Merlin said, just for the sake of hearing Arthur reply in his deep and lovely voice.

And sure enough, a “Goodnight, no moon attacks tonight” was murmured back. Merlin wanted to open his eyes, turn on a light, watch him for a moment. Not in a creepy, weird way – he didn’t want to watch him _sleep_ , this was not a moment between vampire and human– but just to see the ghost of Arthur’s smile, just to prove to himself that this wasn’t a fantasy. For the first time in what felt like forever, Merlin was not alone.

Sleep lifted Merlin into a cloud and, for once, he didn’t fear falling through it and crashing into the earth. Instead, he let it lift him, felt weightless and safe and wonderful.

Merlin woke a few hours later, in the wee hours of the morning, with a pounding head and his face nestled against something warm. He felt like a flower that had been overwatered and turned mushy, melting. His head was aching awfully (probably hungover), and the soft, warm thing that it was resting against was a heavenly relief, somehow. It moved and he pinned it down with an arm, determined to keep peace.

The warm thing vibrated slightly, then a weight was thrown against Merlin, squashing him further against it. Arthur. Merlin was snuggled up to the prince. The prince was cuddling Merlin back. Merlin couldn’t bring himself to care.

Clutching Arthur’s shirt as though it was his pillow, as though it was that wonderful cloud, Merlin let himself be lifted into the world of dreams. The cloud became a mass of white poppies and Merlin let himself fly. Let himself become a bee, flittering around a warm sky, popping from flower to flower, peaceful and warm and ever so sweet.

Arthur was gone the next time Merlin woke up, though his arm flung out in search of his personal heater. Embarrassingly, Merlin was cuddled to a pillow that seemed to have been placed there intentionally, almost as though Arthur had found Merlin attached to his side, clinging like sticky-weed, and had to replace himself with the pillow to avoid waking him.

Merlin stumbled to the kitchen, wiping the sleep from his eyes, pillow clutched to his chest. Dragoon had been fed her breakfast and a note on the table from Arthur thanked Merlin for his hospitality, encouraged him to drink more water, and expressed that if Merlin was not at the ball, Arthur would personally direct him to the stocks for an entire week. Merlin wanted to scowl, wanted to hate that he was being forced to socialise, but knew he was fooling nobody. There was a lightness settling in his heart that he hadn’t felt for a long, long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's 1am where I am and I can't sleep because I'm worried about something silly, so here's another chapter. I hope that my fatigued brain didn't make too many typos or accidentally change tense etc. Thank you, as always, for reading and leaving kudos/comments. You're all amazing:) x


	4. Beside the nettle ever grows the cure for its sting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *waves wand around dramatically* you shall go to the ball

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for the comments and kudos on the last chapter, still can't get over how lovely you all are <3

If Merlin’s heart was light on Tuesday, by Sunday there was a fire spreading inside of him. A fire that had apparently burnt down any remaining brain cells. This morning, he presented Dragoon with his cereal and had a spoonful of cat-food inside his mouth before he realised that no, he did not usually eat tuna for breakfast. There were moments when the fire felt like a good thing. Moments when he’d lie back and remember the feeling of being wrapped up in Arthur’s arms, protected, safe, especially in the evenings. It felt nice to make a new friend, nice to know that he wasn’t absolutely abominable. But the majority of Merlin’s time was spent in moderate to mild panic. He didn’t know how to dance, how to dress, how to survive a royal ball.

Yesterday, a young lad had stopped by unexpectedly, waking Merlin from his Saturday morning slumber, to pick up another ten jars of honey. Merlin was quietly surprised that Arthur hadn’t stopped by himself, ‘on his way’ to somewhere else again. He interpreted this as a bad omen. Maybe Arthur was, finally, fed up of Merlin now. Maybe he regretted ~~inviting~~ ordering Merlin to the ball. Maybe Merlin had made too much of a fool out of himself when he was drunk. Merlin knew that he had a tendency to blabber on about complete nonsense when he was intoxicated. Or maybe Arthur genuinely did have princely duties to be getting on with.

It was the note, chicken scratch handwriting and all, that convinced Merlin to get dressed come Sunday. Merlin had procrastinated going to Camelot for so long that he was out of options. He had a somewhat formal pair of trousers and supposed that he could potentially stop by at Gwaine’s place to borrow a pair of shoes. The issue was the shirt. The only vaguely formal shirt in his wardrobe was a basic, white one. Merlin wore it so little that it had been screwed up in the back of his closet – leaving it creased beyond repair.

Looking into a mirror, bees swarmed inside of him. His head was noisy. His chest felt as though it was humming with anxious energy. He couldn’t focus on anything except the mess that was his appearance. Nettles coaxed their way through the floorboards in his room, stinging his bare feet, buzzing with the bees. Everything hurt. Everything ached.

He needed air.

Merlin left through the front door, avoiding the usually calming aura that his garden offered in favour of running to his mother’s tree. The ground beneath his bare feet was dry and crumbly, the usually luscious grass weary from the perpetual sunlight. The clouds today were large, booming creatures that raced determinedly across the sky, crisp white sails of a ship in the sea. Despite the warmth, the air was no longer dry and heavy. A storm was approaching Camelot.

Merlin couldn’t bear the barren state of the field. There was nothing worse than having the ability to help, but not being willing to risk it. Except – with the storm on its way – it didn’t seem like too much of an endangerment. He paused and waved his arms around, focussing hard on reviving some of the grass. It would look strange, yes, to have this random circle of grass restored, but Merlin doubted anyone would come out here between now and the storm anyway.

Emerald blades of grass danced around him like snakes, triumphant, proud, beautiful. It hissed a _thanks_ , winding its way around his legs, soothing the tingling where the nettles had stung. 

Feeling encouraged by the sight, Merlin continued to his mother’s tree. The stream gurgled at him. It was particularly loud, words leaping out at him that were indecipherable. He could have sworn that Arthur’s name was mentioned but tuned it out. It was a predator, that water, trying to will victims into its deadly power. Merlin would not fool for that. Not today.

The willow tree seemed distracted today – if trees can look distracted. Her strands of leaves waved about in the breeze, one settling against Merlin’s wrist after a while, stroking it encouragingly.

“I’m nervous, mum,” he confessed, staring straight at the jittering tree to avoid getting distracted by the stream. “The prince has a ball and he’s told me to go but I don’t know how to dance, and I don’t know how to act, and I don’t want to let myself down.”

The willow’s shaggy hair parted, and Merlin looked at the wrinkled grey-brown bark, counted the flecks of white on the trunk and imagined they were freckles. It was rare for his mother to be so receptive, so attentive. He could almost see her, almost feel her hand, almost hear her telling him not to worry.

Merlin wasn’t sure why he started crying, but leaves brushed the tears away, gently. _It’s okay to be overwhelmed_ he thought he heard. But he knew that it wasn’t her, not really. The imagination can play the strangest of tricks on us when we desire comfort. Strands of leaves twisted around his shirt, smoothing it down to remove the crinkles. He smiled at the action. It wouldn’t be half as bad, going to a ball, if his shirt looked decent.

“I’m sorry for being a mess, it’ll all be okay-” he stopped, looking down.

Her leaves weren’t just ironing his shirt – they were also painting on it. Lovely, delicate forget-me-nots with melancholic, sky-blue petals and sunshine centres.

Her leaves tentatively dipped into pots of dyes. Merlin stayed still to avoid ruining her work but couldn’t resist peering around, trying to figure out who and how the pots had been conjured. He wondered if this was an extension of her magic, as a tree nymph, but could not think it possible. Paint, surely, would not fit into that domain.

“Thank you, it’s beautiful.”

But the willow tree wasn’t done. Her leaves plucked from the surrounding trees, nimbly weaving leaves together, picking various items from the ground to carefully, ever so carefully, construct something. Materials were crushed, mashed, chopped, sewn. Merlin couldn’t work out what she was making at first. It was too bulky for a necklace, too small for trousers or a jacket. Then, with a blackened plant stem fastening through some of the holes, Merlin understood. She had made him shoes.

The tree passed them over to him and Merlin slipped them on cautiously. It seemed impossible that shoes created out of materials from the forest floor could be comfortable and attractive, but here they were. The heels, each made from squares of wood, gave them a sophisticated and expensive edge. Inside, the shoes were lined with moss and heather, with an insole of thicker leaves, cushioning his feet perfectly. The rest of the shoe had been crafted together using the same, more robust leaves, but were covered from the outside in black pansy petals. From a distance, it looked as though he was wearing a pair of luxurious, velvet loafers.

“They’re stunning, thank you ever so much,” he whispered.

The tendrils of leaves shook, as though such compliments embarrassed her. Merlin smiled back, feeling much more enthusiastic about this whole ball business. He could at least play the part of someone that knew what to do dressed like this.

Her leaves curled around both of his hands and Merlin found himself swaying with her in the gentle breeze. Almost as though she was teaching him how to dance. He let her spin him around for a few minutes, giggling as she pulled him around, careful not to let him trip forwards into the stream.

Eventually, she pulled away and gestured in the direction of Camelot. It was time. He was ready to go to the ball.

*

Camelot looked even more magnificent this evening than it usually did. Although the streets were deserted and houses dark, the road up to the castle was lit up with paper lanterns. Anticipation built in him as he walked, red and white anemones bubbling through the pavement every few steps. It was hauntingly quiet for Camelot to be this quiet when there was still daylight. Merlin’s shoes clacked against the ground, steady as a heartbeat. It would all be okay. _You only have to go through anything once_ , one of the anemones reminded him. It was going to be fine. It was only a ball.

Nearing the castle, he could hear a hum of chattering and music from within. A part of him wanted to run, doubting that Arthur would even notice him at a ball where so many people would be delighted to speak with the prince. But he knew that Gaius, Gwen, Freya, and Gwaine would be thrilled to see him regardless. He needed to make more of an effort to be a good friend.

“You’re here for the ball, I take it,” a knight (Leon, Merlin thought he was called) called to him from where he was patrolling the entrance.

Merlin was glad he hadn’t been harked this time. He nodded stiffly; his throat felt dry.

“Don’t worry, you’re only a little late. Go ahead.”

The knight opened the doors slightly and Merlin squeezed through. He was aiming to look subtle, slip through the crack of the door without making a grand entrance. Merlin didn’t count on the first room beyond the doors being an arrival hall. It made sense. A castle of this size wouldn’t just have a ballroom at the front of it. Merlin glanced around warily, trying to work out which direction would bring him to the ball.

It didn’t take a genius to work it out.

The noise leaked underneath the ballroom doors. Violins wailed a complicated and jolting song over the mellow dulcet tones of the violas and cellos. The hum of chattering that Merlin could make out earlier was now more of a roar. It was loud. Louder than his headache and panic earlier. Louder than the marketplace at prime time. And yet this was muted. This was behind one final door. Merlin looked behind him and focussed briefly on sending the nettles that had been working their way through the stoned hall away. He would have to concentrate. No alcohol. No daydreaming. No flowers.

He moved forwards, ready to take on the ballroom, when the doors opened. Gwen.

“Merlin, what are you doing out here?” she asked, looking surprised that he was there.

“I got here late. What are you doing?”

Although she was wearing a shimmering scarlet gown, a tray of golden pots was lifted by her right hand, suggesting that she was still working. It seemed harsh that anyone would be obliged to work during the royal ball.

“I’m on shift until eleven, then I’m going to dance the night away with Lance. You look fantastic. Here, have a honey-pot.”

Merlin accepted one willingly. He felt tempted to offer her to take over, sympathetic that she’d have to wait that long to dance with her husband. However, Merlin knew his limits and unfortunately balancing a tray of food in a crowded room was not a skill he possessed. Merlin stumbled over his own feet sometimes.

“How’s the baby doing?” He asked instead, dipping a spoon into the honeypot. The kitchen was infamous for its desserts and this was no exception. The honey had been combined with some sort of cream, making it smooth and sweet. Best of all was the caramelised sugar topping, which crunched in a satisfying manner, then melted on Merlin’s tongue.

“They’re kicking up quite the fuss. I blame your honey – being around it all evening has been torture. I’ve managed to sneakily eat three pots so far.”

“I’m glad it’s being enjoyed,” he grinned.

There was a shout from downstairs where Merlin presumed the kitchens were located. Gwen peered over, concern etched upon her face.

“It is, now go and enjoy yourself,” Gwen instructed him, waggling a finger at him on her way downstairs.

Merlin glanced at the doors. Obnoxiously big doors with bronze, circular handles that you had to use strength to open. Okay. He could do this. Worst comes to worst, he would eat his honeypot, hover around for a few minutes, then flee.

He opened the doors, wincing at the creak they made. Momentarily, there was an unsettling quiet as people assessed the newcomer, then, as abruptly as the chatter stopped, it resumed. The intensity of being scrutinised by so many people, even for a fleeting moment, made Merlin’s breath hitch and he edged into a corner of the room. It took the mantra in his head, reminding him over and over not to reveal himself, for flowers not to ground him.

Merlin ran his fingers across the bandage on his hand – he’d decided that it was best to hide the dandelions in such a public space after Gaius’ suggestion that dark magic could be involved. The texture, soft and firm against his skin, calmed him enough and he looked around, processing the room. A grand chandelier lit the room, bathing it in a golden light that impersonated the sun. The smooth, tiled floor felt suspiciously slippery underneath Merlin’s feet and he hoped against hope that he wouldn’t trip at any point tonight. Nobody else seemed to be encountering that issue, however. On the contrary, people dressed in the most fantastic gowns glided across the middle of the ballroom, elegant as butterflies in flight. Everybody else lined up against the walls or towards the buffet table, which Merlin was trying his best not to look at. The orchestra, which seemed to largely consist of string instruments as Merlin had guessed earlier, was perched upon a raised part of the floor, melodies rocketing against the walls, loud in Merlin’s ears.

“Merlin. I was about to send a search party out.”

Merlin tore his eyes away from the midst of the dance-floor. It was hypnotic, watching couples spin with ease in each other’s arms, all the while somehow conscious of the couples around them and careful not to bump into anyone. Arthur had found him.

His hair seemed to glow in the light emitted from the chandelier. Behind him followed a gaggle of men and women, some curious and others fluttering their eyelashes in Arthur’s direction. The prince seemed not to notice them, however, his attention fixated purely on Merlin.

“You weren’t kidding about the stocks, sire?” Merlin found that he had to speak loudly with the music and general background noise.

“I never kid. You look,” Arthur paused, flustered. “You know…”

Merlin’s smile froze. Of course, that’s why he had sped over so quickly. As prince, it was his duty to inform a guest if they looked inappropriate for the ball. Maybe this was why he invited Merlin in the first place – to humiliate him in front of all these people. Or maybe Arthur was being kind, escorting him from the premises before the king saw him.

“I didn’t have time to go shopping, I, er, I can go if I don’t look acceptable.”

Merlin hunched his shoulders and looked at the floor. He was _not_ going to ask a giant Venus flytrap to swallow him whole, not over this.

“No, no you idiot – I mean, not. You look pretty, really- or great, fine, whatever. Don’t leave.”

Merlin looked up to check that the prince wasn’t joking, but now Arthur was the one averting eye-contact, his cheeks pink. He wasn’t naïve enough to believe that the prince actually liked the way Merlin dressed but he recognised the urgency behind his words. Arthur wanted him here.

“Oh, er, thank you. I like your chainmail.”

All the knights seemed to have been commanded to wear chainmail tonight. Either that or there was a serious incident of outfit twinning.

“It’s very heavy.”

Merlin thought it would be obvious that wearing knight-gear to a ball was stupid. It was made of metal, for goodness sake. He withheld saying this to the prince, however, not wanting to be booed by the eavesdroppers that were now crowded around them. It amazed Merlin that they didn’t even pretend to not be listening in or gawking at the prince.

“At least you don’t have a phallic image on your forehead,” Merlin pointed out, helpfully.

A woman in a gorgeous green dress, red curls cascading down her back, elbowed her way in front of Merlin to address the prince, “Care to dance?”

Arthur leaned past to her to talk to Merlin, “I’ll catch you later.”

Merlin nodded, albeit a little glumly. Although, it was somewhat a relief to see that Arthur’s followers no longer found Merlin worth watching. He let himself relax again, intending to finish the honeypot in peace and watch Arthur dance with the beautiful woman.

“Blimey, he was a mess,” Gwaine said from behind Merlin, where he’d presumably been listening in with everyone else. “Is he normally like that around you?”

Merlin was more interested in scraping the remains of his pudding than listening to Gwaine’s ridiculous theories over Arthur's behaviour.

“Like what?” he asked, though with a spoon in his mouth it probably sounded more like ‘lak wad’.

“Like someone filled his mouth with cornflakes and told him to do an Irish jig whilst reciting the knightly code.”

This was a massive overreaction. Merlin was sure that Arthur didn’t act all that differently around himself and everyone else. Maybe Arthur just felt especially confident around Gwaine – Merlin knew that he did. Gwaine was annoying in an almost endearing way that made you feel capable of bantering back.

“That’s a weirdly specific situation.”

A huff from Merlin's left side made him startle. A woman with golden hair was clearly trying to get Gwaine's attention without success.

“You’re dodging the question,” Gwaine noted, cocking an eyebrow.

“And you’re dodging dancing – I’ve seen at least seven people give you the eye since the start of this conversation.”

Merlin motioned to the dancing couples when a flash of colour caught his eye. He hadn’t noticed until now that Arthur was wearing a scarlet cloak, which rippled like a red kite on a windy day across the room. Why did he always insist on wearing winter clothes during the summer?

“Yeah, well, you’ve never been to a ball before and you are _rather_ pitiful.”

Merlin glowered at his friend, “You just don’t want to dance.”

“Have you ever tried dancing in chainmail? It’s exhausting and noisy. Come on, let’s grab some food. The buffet here is free, you know, and I’ve been eyeing up those honeypots.”

This sounded like an excellent plan to Merlin. When forced to socialise, one should always try to locate food as soon as it is physically possible. He planned on tasting as much food as possible tonight, stuffing himself full, and possibly smuggling some home to help him save money on the food bill.

“They are rather good. High quality honey.”

“Really? I heard the beekeeper is a bit of a wanker.”

Merlin thumped him with his left hand. The buffet table was laden with goodies. Merlin didn’t know where to start. Gwaine, however, was apparently not suffering from the same dilemma, cheeks already stuffed with some bizarre looking red and yellow bread, and hands snatching up a honeypot. Merlin followed his lead and dived in for the bread, sighing happily as he realised it was essentially posh pizza.

By half-eleven, Merlin’s hunger was satisfied. He had also been remarkably social, at least for Merlin’s standards. Freya had wandered over and spoken to him avidly over a new book series her store had stocked, Gaius drawled on about a herb he was having difficulties acquiring, subtly hinting that Merlin should grow it for him, and even Lancelot had come over to praise his honey. It was all going well. Too well.

Gwaine, stomach now bulging with the quantity of food he’d devoured in the last few hours, was giggling to Merlin about how he’d accidentally belched in a girl’s face when she asked him to dance, when Merlin saw the prince approaching. He looked exhausted, blonde hair swept back a little, forehead moist with sweat, and hands fumbling with each other nervously.

“Merlin, you-ah, would -dance?” he spluttered.

It was so incoherent that all Merlin could do was look confusedly at him.

“I think what his highness is trying to do is ask you to dance,” Gwaine supplied, helpfully.

Merlin assessed the ballroom floor critically. The floor was most definitely a slip hazard zone, especially since Merlin had overindulged in the puddings, making his stomach heavy and head woozy. Besides which, Merlin’s dancing lessons from his mother had been swaying back and forth, not the twirling-out-in-spin-lift-et-cetera that was being perfectly performed by the couples here.

“Oh. I-ah, I don’t actually know how.”

Gwaine shoved him forward, so that Merlin fell clumsily against Arthur’s chest. Arthur lifted him carefully but didn't move him away.

“And what Merlin is trying to say is that he’d love to, though you’ll have to lead.”

To Merlin's annoyance, Arthur raised no objections to Gwaine’s manhandling of him. Instead, he guided Merlin softly but firmly to the dancing area and placed his hands on his upper arms, near the shoulders.

Merlin felt his entire body turn red. People were staring. People were gawping. People were dissecting him. He trembled like a leaf on a windy day, but Arthur steadied him, and Merlin willed himself to not throw up.

Arthur tilted his chin up, “Hey, you’re okay. Ignore them.”

Merlin tried to focus on Arthur’s eyes. Blue and steady and as constant as the skies had been this summer. He felt Arthur’s hands, warm and solid against his back. _No flowers. No flowers. No flowers._

Arthur stepped backwards. Merlin found himself following without properly realising it, eyes still staring determinedly into Arthur’s. Merlin’s breathing relaxed and he found himself moving instinctually, naturally. Arthur moved one of Merlin’s hands to clasp it in his own and squeezed. This was okay. This was more than okay- it was easy. They were coasting around, faster and faster-

And, with that sudden surge of confidence, Merlin’s next step landed on Arthur’s shoes.

“Sorry!” he squeaked.

“It’s fine, knight shoes are very thick, little can penetrate them. Even Morgana’s death-heels have failed at it.”

The Lady Morgana, Merlin had noticed earlier, was wearing remarkable stilettos, a silver snake twisting around the pointed heel. She was like a moth, out here, lacy black skirts suspended slightly so that they floated hauntingly behind her wherever she stood. Her usual gloves had a row of black pearls sewn onto them. Even Gwaine, who usually would only usually flatter himself, had called her enchanting.

“Ball as bad as you thought?”

Merlin’s attention snapped back to the prince. He thought that, in general, it had been a pretty decent night. He looked alright, the food was great, and seeing his friends was truly wonderful. Even dancing wasn’t that horrific. In fact, Merlin actually found himself rather enjoying it. But Merlin could hardly let Arthur know that, could he?

“Worse. A peasant forced me to dance with him, can you believe it?”

Arthur snorted, "You seemed to enjoy stuffing your face with pudding.”

He hadn’t known that the prince was watching him inhale the table of food. The thought initially made Merlin feel embarassed – it was rather rude, probably, to eat such a lot of the royal ball food. Then, remembering how Gwaine had overindulged himself even more than he, Merlin laughed.

“You seemed to enjoy dancing with about fifty people,” he retorted, smirking. Two could play at that game.

“Not really. You’re the only person I asked to dance.

Merlin, again, felt baffled. Why would Arthur ask _him_ , of all people, to dance? He couldn’t see the appeal himself. It wasn’t as though Merlin was a well-regarded lord or a professional dancer. He didn't know quite how to reply to that and dunked his head down, processing it.

"Gwaine and you- you’ve been friends for a while?” Arthur inquired, suddenly.

Merlin thought he detected something in Arthur's tone - not curiosity or anger or happiness, something else, something different. He couldn't quite figure it out though, and peered up at the prince, confused.

“Yeah, a bit. We share a love of food and mead. I don’t think he’d mind it if you set him up with your sister.”

This seemed to please Arthur, his face relaxed slightly.

“As if. Morgana would kill me if I arranged anything in her love life.”

He nodded. The lady in question was currently dancing with Uther, pointedly ignoring the various people that were trying to reach out to her. Uther had issued a very serious 'no touching' warning for Morgana when she was younger, offering a month in prison for any who wanted to try it, but the town was still fascinated by her and Merlin knew very few people who hadn't at one point in their life had a crush on her.

“What happened to your hand?” Arthur asked, squeezing the bandaged hand. Merlin felt thankful for putting the bandage on now, unsure of what he’d say if the prince had found the dandelion seeds there instead.

“Onions. The cat,” Merlin began, randomly, then tried to backtrack. “The cat jumped on me when I was slicing onions.”

Merlin was atrocious at telling lies convincingly. Still, the prince rolled his eyes at him, as if he'd expected this answer, “You need to be more careful.”

Merlin couldn't very well argue with Arthur there. He caught the eye of Gwen, who, it seemed had finally been let free from her shift. She looked radiant, spinning around with her husband. They made a lovely couple.

“Don’t you pick a bride tonight?” he hesitated. “Or-or that’s what Gwaine said, er, that you were hosting a ball to find a wife.”

“Supposedly. There’s someone, I think- I know. But I need to talk to you about something first. You use it, don’t you, magic?” Arthur whispered the last word.

Merlin stiffened in Arthur’s arms, effectively bringing their dancing to a stop. That had been the last thing he'd expected Arthur to ask.

“How did-?”

Arthur didn’t seem overly concerned and lifted their arms again, willing Merlin to keep dancing. Dread, however, spilled through Merlin’s veins, green and prickly.

“I’m not that blind, Merlin. I thought I saw the Aloe Vera plant washing a plate the first time I visited, but wasn’t certain, not until that night, when white flowers burst through the ceiling while you were asleep – poppies and dahlias and-well, I don’t know many flower species to be honest.”

Arthur's voice was faint, almost sentimental, but Merlin was not focused on that. This was a trap. The dread turned back into that fire he felt earlier, burning through his insides, making him want to wretch. It was a lie. It was all a lie. Arthur didn’t want to spend time with him. Arthur didn’t want to be his friend. Arthur probably didn’t even like him. He knew about the magic. He _knew_ and he took him to the castle, to his father, to Uther, where he would have Merlin executed.

“Is that why you invited me here, why you were so persistent?”

The prince nodded, eagerly, “Yes, Merlin I need-”

“Did you want a public execution? To-to distract everyone from the marriage or-or just because I was born this way, born with _it_.” He spat out, angrily.

The room felt too small. The chandelier loomed above him like a spider perched above a fly. People, still watching the prince as if captivated, hovered menacingly. Knights, armed knights. The soaring of the violins screamed in Merlin’s ears. His magic was bursting, wanting so badly to be released, to fill the room with nettles and cacti and thick, messy vines.

He felt his legs, stretching beneath his body, moving towards the doors.

“What? No, no it’s not- Merlin!” Arthur shouted, but Merlin was already gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed! sorry to leave it on an angsty moment, am hoping the next chapter will be up at the end of this weekend


	5. I have fled my country and gone to the heather

When trying to flee from a royal ball, crowds have their pros and cons. Merlin felt as though he was running through a swarm of angry bees, stingers poised to attack. In reality, a serving girl had just entered the ballroom with a tray of chocolate souffle, ergo everyone gathered around the doors to nab one before they were all gone. On the upside, since Merlin looked human, there was no place he was more apt for camouflaging in with than surrounded by hordes of fellow humans. Moreover, they created the perfect obstacle for Arthur, who was struggling through both the chocolate souffle mob and the flock of his fans. The audacity of Merlin rushing away had not gone unnoticed and several were desperate to offer the prince a shoulder to cry on.

Thankfully, it wasn’t long before Merlin had his hands clasped around the cool metal of the ballroom doors.

Gaius was lingering in the entranceway. He was not a fool. He knew that all food that entered the ballroom had to by-pass this room, so had intentionally waited out there for the chocolate souffle. His efforts were successful. The serving girl’s brother was healed by Gaius last winter (healed was a loose term considering his only ailment was a hangover) and she rewarded him then with not one, but three of the puddings.

“Merlin, what on earth are you doing?” Gaius demanded, his face a beetroot-red. He had not counted on someone walking through here, especially not when he was in the middle of licking the first pudding bowl clean.

“Arthur knows about it- my magic. He knows. I have to go, look after my cat, please.”

Gaius didn’t even have time to respond before the boy was gone, running as fast as his gangly legs would carry him, somehow losing a shoe on the way. Privately, Gaius suspected that Arthur was highly unlikely to turn Merlin in for magic, but he knew that he wouldn’t have a chance at catching him up. Gaius also predicted that- yes, here came Arthur, looking around frantically, collecting the shoe, and calling for a horse to be prepared immediately. Still, he thought, he would check in at Merlin’s house tomorrow unless he was completely positive that the prince truly had located the daft child and knocked some sense into him.

Merlin was now inexpressibly glad for Camelot’s uphill design. Running down a hill was fun, even if you had lost a shoe. Loafers were easy to slip off, especially when one is running away from a prince. Merlin took the other one off and clutched it to his chest, unwilling to throw it away.

He wasn’t entirely sure where he was running. A chaotic energy was coursing through his veins, exhilarating, thrilling, scary. The weather seemed to agree with his body for once. The sky had deepened to a bruised purple in the late hour, puffed up clouds peppering the world with a hint of rain that felt cold and shocking against Merlin's skin. The ground was becoming increasingly slippery, mirroring the texture of the ballroom floor, and Merlin was relieved to exit through the gates of Camelot.

The fields outside were not so bothered by the rain, the earth so cracked and crumbly that water this light currently was not only dampening it. It took Merlin a moment to remember that he couldn’t go home. The thought of Dragoon, curled asleep on his bed, waiting for her human to return, made his heart pang with longing, but he knew that Gaius would look after her.

A low rumble of thunder startled Merlin into moving ahead instead, towards the forest. Despite being brought up human, he hoped that the fairies of the wood would recognise the magic that Camelot had now rejected. The rain, cottoning onto Merlin’s plan and wanting to deter him, thickened into silver darts that splattered coolly against the ground, now pooling quickly into mud.

“Merlin,” a voice shouted, not quite lost in the dark and thunder.

Merlin turned around despite himself. There was someone, near the gates Merlin had just exited, surveying the fields on a horse. Could it be Arthur, or another knight, or even Uther himself?

Merlin urged his legs forward, running desperately through the field, half-withered grass crumbling beneath his feet. A rabbit bolted past him, startling him into slipping, falling onto the ground and yelping the process. If the rider didn’t know he was here, they did now. Merlin clambered up, hands muddy, shirt soaked, knees aching, and forced himself to keep going.

The edge of the woods and stream were in sight now, even with the rain dancing in front of his eyes. Behind him, the horse neighed loudly. Merlin tried not think about that. The best thing to do was to keep moving forwards, just a little further, to cross the boundary and move into another realm.

He came to a stop. The stream was gurgling up its own storm, spitting at Merlin, as though it was trying to taste the fear that was bounding off him. The sky roared threateningly, making the water slop around messily. Someone, behind him, was dismantling from the horse, approaching gently as though they were coming towards a wounded animal.

Merlin leapt over the water.

Everything shifted. No longer was he in the human world, that much was clear. The stream had vanished, and he was stood in the middle of a forest, on the roots of an oak tree who felt too old, too wrinkled, displaced somehow. Pine trees, tall and imposing, with trunks mostly bare and heads thick with green needles, watched curiously. There was an old sort of magic in this forest. Merlin could smell it, amongst the strong stench of pine and rain. The type that had one eye always open, even in a storm at the dead of night. Although Merlin could hear the thunder and rain, pattering above him, the earth was dry, protected by the canopy of needles that rustled in the wind overhead.

He had only just moved away from the tree when Arthur materialised out of seemingly nowhere. The prince shook his drenched hair about, then lunged forwards to grab Merlin before he could run away again. Merlin flinched at the sudden touch.

“You ass. It’s freezing out here, I can’t believe you I-,” Arthur paused, taking his cloak off and draping it across Merlin’s quivering shoulders. “I would never execute you. Well, not _never_. If you became a mass serial killer, I’d have to at least _consider_ it but really, Merlin, growing flowers is hardly a threat to Camelot. What are you going to do, give us a weeding problem?”

From the moment Arthur touched him to ‘I would never execute you’, Merlin had been brainstorming the various plants he could potentially conjure that would not hurt the prince but allow him to get a decent head-start and keep running. Now, with the prince’s cloak heavy on his shoulders, the confusion set in.

“I don’t understand.”

“I wouldn’t share a bed with you if I didn’t at least trust you, you idiot. And I most _definitely_ wouldn’t have fed the whole of Camelot your honey if there was any risk you could poison them. I just- I wanted to ask you about something. That was all.”

Merlin flushed in embarrassment. He recognised that he had acted rashly, without using any logic, and massively misjudged Arthur. Now, the crown prince of Camelot was in the middle of a magical forest on the night that he should be proposing to his future partner, and it was all his fault. 

“Oh. I, er, I- hadn’t thought of that. Sorry,” Merlin murmured, head low in shame.

Arthur’s gaze softened. Merlin was still shivering horrendously, wet socks peeling off his feet and trousers filthy from the mud, the one remaining shoe dropped on the ground. In short, he was a hot mess.

“Come here, you’re soaked,” he opened his arms, and Merlin exhaustedly let himself be enveloped in warmth. “I’m sorry too, I can understand why you panicked. I didn’t exactly word anything well, and the ball wasn’t a great place to talk about it. I really didn’t want to get engaged tonight. I- there’s someone. I haven’t met them yet, or maybe I have- I don’t know. I’m not sure. I used magic and it’s a little complicated. That doesn’t matter, though. I wanted you to meet Morgana.”

A part of Merlin, a nosy and selfish and ever so slightly jealous fragment of him, wanted to ask more about who Arthur might or might not have met. Another, more concerned, bristled at the word ‘magic’. The son of Uther Pendragon should not be using magic. Natural magic, the sort Merlin had, couldn’t help itself sometimes, but Arthur couldn’t know the risks of using someone else’s magic. However, Merlin’s unease was put aside when Arthur mentioned Morgana. What did she have to do with this?

“Morgana?”

“Morgana, my sister,” Arthur began. Merlin rolled his eyes against Arthur’s chest; he knew who she was. “She. You can’t tell anyone this, okay?”

Given how long Merlin had kept his magic a secret, he thought he was pretty good at keeping things to himself. Then again, Arthur had plaintively known about Merlin’s magic for a while. Who else, he wondered, had noticed it? Gaius obviously already knew and Gwaine could be blind as a bat, but Gwen and Freya were far more sensible. He’d have to think about that more if he ever returned to Camelot. There was, however, someone that Merlin could never hide anything from. Someone who knew Merlin better than anyone else in the world and it would be an injustice not to confide in.

“Can I tell Dragoon?”

“Yes, Merlin, you can tell your cat. I can’t believe you sometimes,” Arthur huffed, breath skirting against Merlin’s hair from where he was still cuddled up. “Ridiculous. Your magic, you make life with it, right?”

That felt like a stretch. He wasn’t a stork that dropped babies, wrapped up delicately in tea-towels, to the maidens of Camelot.

“Sort of? I grow plants, hear them, usually without meaning to. What’s that got to do with Morgana?” he asked, suspecting that he was missing something big.

“I was getting there! Morgana wears gloves all the time, I’m sure you’ve noticed. Anyway, she- she can’t touch anyone. Or they die. That’s _why_ she wears the gloves.”

Merlin thought back to the Lady Morgana. He’d never questioned the gloves, but Arthur was right. Merlin had assumed it was an upper-class fashion trend that he’d never heard of, or a snobbish way to avoid touching anyone else. It made sense, also, that Uther was so protective of her – it wasn’t because she was tired of being harassed (though that would have been fair enough), it was to avoid accidentally killing people. Merlin couldn’t think of much worse than the magic she had. There would be no one more touch-starved, more isolated, he realised, than her. Even he, Merlin, who lived alone outside of Camelot, was able to hug his friends, stroke his cat, form a relationship if ever he desired that. An accidental daisy for Merlin was something he could fib his way out of, but Morgana could make no such error.

A bee balm flower with tubular ruby-red petals, sprouted from the ground beneath him and whispered soothing words to Merlin.

“That’s awful, poor Morgana," he murmured, feeling as though whatever he said would be the understatement of the century.

“Yes, it’s been difficult for her. Her magic didn’t come immediately, it started a few years ago, but you can see why we couldn’t let her be around Gwen, when she’s bursting with new life.”

Merlin nodded, grateful that they hadn’t risked it. Imagine if she had, by pure accident, brushed against her hand or arm when walking by, ending two lives instead of one. He shivered at the thought of it. Arthur, mistaking this for Merlin being cold, rubbed his back soothingly.

“I still don’t know how I can help,” Merlin admitted. “And why you wanted me at the ball?”

“I mainly wanted you there because you’re- well, you’re _you_ , and I could do with the moral support. But, I suppose, the ball did seem like a good opportunity – my father has guards in place all the time, watching her. It was the only time I could have gotten her alone to meet you. There’s a flower, a golden flower, that counters her magic.”

A golden flower. Lantanas, Marigolds, Daylilies… were they what he was talking about? Merlin hadn’t heard that any of them had such an effect, to counter magic.

“A flower? What type?”

“I don’t actually know. I was hoping you would. We need one. The gloves are made of a special material that allow her to touch people but father he- he patted her shoulder a while ago, so stupid, she was clothed, obviously, but in normal clothes, so although affect hasn’t been instant, Gaius says he only has a week left now.”

“Gaius knows?”

Merlin was astonished that Gaius hadn’t mentioned it to him before. If he knew that a flower could heal Uther, surely, he’d have come to Merlin by now and demanded it.

“Not formally. My father is very proud. Although, Gaius has probably guessed it by now, he’s been treating Morgana for so long. He said there’s no treatment.”

But Gaius was the most knowledgable one in the kingdom, both for magical and non-magical ailments… Uther had burnt the majority of the books on sorcery on a bonfire. Merlin could somewhat pity his objections to magic now. Nobody deserved to watch a loved one grow up terrified that just by touching someone, they would inevitably die.

“Then how do you know about the flower?”

Arthur released him from his arms to sit down at the root of the tree, looking shamefully at the ground. Merlin silently mourned the loss of the comfort Arthur had been offering, though he wasn’t entirely sure why he felt this way.

“I asked a fairy.”

“You what?” Merlin squeaked, feeling certain that he’d misheard.

“A fairy – or I think that’s what she was. She was badly injured, the wind carried her over the river, into a field, so I helped her get better. She gave me three wishes.”

Merlin walked over to sit next to Arthur, ground bumpy underneath his feet. A fairy. A real fairy. There had been countless times that Merlin had loitered around the edge of the field, talking to his mother or watching the stream, and he’d never seen one. It seemed too amazing for words. Still, it made sense. It was random that the prince was all the way out there, in the fields, alone, the first time he’d stumbled upon him, but perhaps Arthur had chanced upon the fairy shortly before that encounter. If it was, he wouldn’t be surprised if his second wish was for Gwaine to wake up every morning with a dick on his forehead.

“And you wished for a way to reverse Morgana’s curse?”

Arthur nodded, “She told me about the flower. It’s grown in fairyland, this golden flower.”

Merlin sighed. He didn’t want to let Arthur down. The issue was that if this flower was only grown in fairyland then Merlin couldn’t very well conjure it by pure determination. He’d never seen a fairy flower before.

“I don’t think I can grow it. My powers are complicated. Usually, plants grow based on what I’m feeling – like mint if I’m suspicious, daffodils when I sense change is coming, snowdrops for hope.”

“White dahlias and poppies for dreaming?”

Arthur could now analyse his feelings, Merlin realised. It was stupid of him to confide that the flowers were reflective of his emotions. Everybody has some feelings that they would rather not show. Merlin hoped beyond hope that the prince didn’t know the jealous connotations of the yellow rose he conjured when they had met at the gates. Merlin didn't yet entirely understand why it had bloomed in the first place. Still, the damage was done now and Merlin couldn't very well retract what he'd said.

“Yes. That’s how I first get them, from feeling them. After I’ve grown them once, or if I’ve seen them in person, I can grow them again. They can’t come from nothing, though.”

It felt odd to be describing this to someone. Merlin had always been so guarded about his magic, only discreetly talking about it with Gaius, who had known since he’d essentially adopted him as a baby.

“So, if we go to fairyland, find the flower, you could make it again?”

Merlin had no difficulty in replicating plants from the human realm that he’d seen before, so he didn’t see why fairy flowers should be any different. He hadn’t felt the lust behind coriander when he was seven (thank goodness), but after tasting it in a soup and examining the herb in question, he was able to conjure heaps of it for Gaius to put in their food. Gaius didn’t much like coriander, so wasn’t too happy about this.

“I think so.”

“That’s great – and, well, aren’t we in fairyland now?”

Merlin actually wasn’t sure about that. There were no maps of what existed beyond the fields, but he had a strange feeling that whilst they were in a magical realm, this was not fairyland.

“I don’t know. I think fairyland and the woods are separate, somehow.”

He dug his fingers into the pockets of the cloak and found his other loafer there. Arthur must have picked it up when after Merlin fled.

“It must be nearby, at least?” Arthur questioned, hopefully. "The fairy-thing I met blew over the stream from these woods, after all."

He seemed to be itching to get started, to find the flower and return to Camelot. Merlin wished that he shared that enthusiasm, but today had worn him out and currently the only thing that his brain could focus on was its desire to rest.

“Probably. We can look around in the morning. No sense doing anything in the dark.”

“True, though I can’t see where we’d sleep.”

This was not an issue. Merlin had slept underneath the stars before. The best remedy for a noisy head was to lay your exhausted body down, on the soft fabric of the earth, and count the stars. By soft fabric of the earth, a layer of heather was, of course, essential. The closeness of the tree trunks did not make conjuring such a mattress easy, but after a quick dash around the oak tree, Merlin found a space that seemed to be big enough.

Arthur watched on, fascinated, as Merlin’s eyes glowed gold in the night. He perched himself on a tree stump that was conveniently nearby, “Okay, that works. You sleep, I’ll take first watch.”

“First watch?” Merlin asked, horrified at such a concept.

“We’re in a forest filled with dangerous creatures, Merlin. People don’t return from the woods. One of us should be alert at all times, just in case something attacks us.”

He hadn’t much considered that. It was easy to forget how dangerous this place was. The quiet, only disturbed by peaceful churring of insects and muted rain and wind sounds, made it feel deceptively safe. Still, there was _no chance_ Merlin was going to forfeit a decent night of sleep, not even to save their lives. Especially not when Merlin had the power of plants. He surrounded their mattress with a thick wall of cacti, spikes ready to impale anyone that tried to interfere with them.

“They’ll let us know if anyone approaches, right guys?” The plants nodded, one of them close to prickling Arthur in its glee. “See?”

“Fine. If we die because your stupid, magical green rod falls asleep then I’m blaming you,” Arthur huffed, jumping away from the offending plant and discarding his chainmail, leaving him in trousers and a coarse shirt.

“You realise they’re cacti, right?”

“Whatever,” Arthur grumbled, following Merlin through the gap the cacti had moved to allow them through, then added: “I hope you don’t plan on sleeping in those revolting socks and trousers. They’re filthy.”

“You’re filthy,” Merlin retorted uselessly, but peeled off his socks, chucking them at the nearest cactus.

The cactus in question spat the socks straight back at him but aimed poorly and hit Arthur in the face.

“ _Mer_ lin,” Arthur roared, only worsening matters as the socks fell into his mouth.

Merlin could not claim that he regretted his actions. He chuckled to himself lowly as he used a fern to brush some mud off his trousers, deciding it not sensible to sleep with less on just in case they were attacked over the night. Stifling a yawn behind his hand, he silently prayed that they wouldn’t have such an encounter. Merlin felt that he’d been through enough today as it was. He wondered what Dragoon might be doing right now, if she had noticed that her human was still gone or had accepted the peace and quiet gladly and slept.

He lowered himself onto the ground, next to Arthur, and promptly adjusted their bedding to plump up some pillows. It wasn’t the comfiest bed in the world, but with the cloak draped across them both, it was the best they could do under the circumstances. Arthur turned to look at Merlin, moonlight silvering his face. Merlin frowned. If he could see the moon then-

Yes, there came a splattering of rain, right on Arthur’s face.

“Really?” Arthur whinged, mopping his face with his shirt.

Merlin waved his hand at the space above them, layering gigantic gunnera manicata leaves across the cactus plants to shield them from any further showering. Any remaining light was instantly blocked out, submerging them in pure darkness. Merlin closed his eyes, then opened them again. He found an odd satisfaction in the way the light didn’t change. What came first, shadow or light?

Something warm grabbed Merlin’s hand, cutting off his rambling brain.

“You’re not scared of the dark, are you?” He mumbled at Arthur.

“Shut up, you’re scared of the moon.”

Merlin squeezed his hand gently. A part of him hoped that he would wake, embraced in Arthur’s arms again. He tried to repress the thought, but the dark shadows of the palm leaves glared back at him. Shadows weren’t quite as forgiving as the night, with its kind, twinkling stars and promise of daylight. Shadows were bleak, bland, endless, infinite. He attempted to sleep in an effort to escape its pestering, but uninvited aster flowers bloomed behind his eyelids, with centres the colour of Arthur’s hair and petals long, wistful, purple, reaching for something so near and yet so far away. Okay, Merlin acknowledged at last, he might have a teensy crush on the prince.

“Merlin,” floated Arthur’s voice.

Did he know? Could this be it? Would Arthur dreamily declare his love, right here, in their bed made of flowers? Was Merlin so obvious that Arthur could read his thoughts or knew, by some soulmate instinct, that they were meant to be?

“Please, for the love of all that is good out there, stop thinking. I don’t know what it is that’s poking me in the ribcage, but I most certainly do not appreciate it.”

_Oh._

“Whoops, sorry,” Merlin said. “I can’t help it.”

Merlin quickly ordered the flowers to leave. The flowers were disappointed, _you never pick us._ One particularly mouthy carnation snapped at him as she shrunk into the earth. Yes, she had a point, he realised. It had been years since he’d allowed himself to like someone, and even then, his feelings paled in compared to what he felt for Arthur already. It was a doomed venture, wanting Arthur. Arthur, the prince who _might_ already like someone; the prince who held a ball this very evening to find a partner and absolutely did not propose to Merlin; the prince who needed him to find a flower. That was all. That was all they were. And Merlin was content with that. These feelings were scary. These flowers were scary.

“What are you thinking about anyway?”

‘You’ seemed like a far too cliché answer and Merlin liked to think himself as edgy. How else did you explain the neckerchiefs?

“Just worried, I guess,” he mumbled, then a horrible thought struck him. “If we die out here, then Uther’s heir is gone. Oh, and Uther would die too… which would leave Morgana to rule, except she’s got that whole death touch thing.”

Arthur didn’t respond – at least, not in words. He was snoring. Merlin turned over, sighing. He distracted himself from overthinking by focusing on willing any sneaky flowers to stay away. Eventually, sleep took him away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Bit of a short chapter today because I am tired and forgot to eat so am needing food - and yes, they're sharing a bed agaaain because I can't get enough of soft, sleepy Merlin


	6. When gorse is out of bloom, kissing is out of season

The morning arrived with sunlight falling clumsily between the leaves, speckling the dampened ground with strange, pale shapes instead of rain. They were ghosts of clouds, small and bright and ever wandering. The birds out here were remarkably annoying. Instead of singing or warbling, they screamed shrilly. Merlin would have been concerned, had it not been for the blackbird that shrieked in delight as it managed to land perfectly on his head. It seemed even more pleased when Merlin tried to brush it off his head, crying as it shifted from foot to foot to avoid the sweeping of his hand. As it was, Merlin was more irked at the birds than worried now as he most certainly did not appreciate starting his day with a headache. Arthur was still asleep, somehow, breathing heavily into Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin extracted himself from the grip and, pointedly ignoring the chuckling of the cacti, asked them to lower their defences.

His clothes, curiously enough, had been washed and ironed. Merlin looked at a cactus confusedly, but it just shrugged at him. He decided that it was unlikely his clothes would be a trap and set about getting dressed. It was nice to wear clean and dry clothing again.

Merlin stumbled around, searching for a good spot to pee. Eventually, he decided on a spot next to a half-withered tree, deciding that it would be least offensive to relieve himself on an already deceased plant. As he was fumbling with his zip, however, a variety of strange creatures emerged.

The one at the front, who had assumed the role of leader, was staring straight at Merlin. She had thick, dark hair and a pair of enormous antlers that the sunlight seemed drawn to, for they glowed golden. Her eyes were completely dark, guarded by long and thick lashes, and seemed to speak a million kindnesses to Merlin, in a similar yet much less threatening manner than the stream. Her nose, pointed and black, was similar to that of a deer, yet she stood on her hindlegs. From the torso upwards, she seemed to be at least 80% human, with flawless chestnut skin and a friends (which was a popular travelling theatre sitcom) t-shirt on. Cowering behind her to the left was a pale skinned boy with the same eyes as the lady, but pointed rabbit ears and whiskers that rippled in the morning breeze. On her other side was a chubby red man with thick red hair and small ears, twitching hands reminiscent, Merlin realised, to a squirrel. Various other creatures emerged behind them, mice and badgers and even a wildcat.

 _We mean no harm_ , Merlin heard, as he hastily zipped his trousers back up. Well, thank goodness for that, he thought. Merlin did not intend to be found dead with a full bladder and his trousers down.

“Good morning, Emrys, child of the plants,” the deer woman bowed, and clicked her fingers.

A wicker-basket appeared, laden with croissants, apples, toast and various other breakfast items. Merlin wasn’t entirely sure where the name had come from but decided not to mention it. If being mistaken for Emrys meant he got free food, then he was down. He was about to thank them for their kindness when an irritated huff sounded behind him.

“His name is Merlin, actually.”

And there went that plan. Arthur, chainmail glinting and dagger pointed towards the creatures (Merlin had no idea where the dagger had come from, he wondered if Arthur kept weapons in his boots) had come up behind him. The forest might have been shaded but Merlin couldn't help but feel the chainmail must still be a discomfort.

The creatures, however, did not seem disturbed by his presence at all. The deer woman glanced at his dagger with an accompanying, distinctly unimpressed eyebrow raise, while the squirrel actually made an ‘aw’ noise at the sight of him, as if he was an adorable little puppy. It felt, to summarise, embarrassing. The bush Merlin had subconsciously been growing erupted in blush pink peonies.

“Not when he is among his people. Good morning, human,” the deer lady directly coldly to Arthur, then retreated back into the folds of the forest.

The creatures nodded at Merlin and followed the woman. Arthur looked around, surveying the area for threats, before storing the dagger in his boot (Merlin awarded himself a pat on the back for guessing where that had come from).

“What did they mean by that?” Arthur asked in an offended tone.

“Pretty sure it’s a form of greeting. People with manners use it all the time,” Merlin shrugged as he unpacked the picnic basket.

He wasn’t entirely convinced that it was safe to eat food from the forest. Wasn’t there a rumour that magical food made you a prisoner? Or was that fruit from the gardens of the Underworld? Still, he was starving, and the creatures didn’t seem to have ill-intentions. Merlin drew up a monkshood plant. The plant would ordinarily be poisonous, so was excellent at examining the properties of poisons and plants. It leaned over the food, deep-lobed, purple butterfly winged flowers drooping as it sniffed the food.

“Well, yes, I got that, funnily enough. Why did they address you as though you’re one of them? They were incredibly rude to me. _Me_ , the crown prince of Camelot.”

Merlin tuned out Arthur’s whining to listen to the monkshood, who had already finished their assessment of the food. _No poison. Although, the pain au chocolat does contain chocolate, which contains various addictive substances. Oh, and I wouldn’t mind a chunk of croissant, if you’d be so kind._ The monkshood requested, looking rather proud of himself for the fast examination of the food. Merlin abided and sprinkled some croissant on the soil. The monkshood gobbled it up greedily before sinking into the earth.

“They can probably smell the magical nymph energy or some bullshit like that. This is safe to eat.”

Arthur sat down opposite Merlin and picked up a pain au chocolat.

“Magical what-now?”

Merlin laughed around the toast he’d been crunching on. Just when he assumed the prince knew everything about him…

“Have you really forgotten that I’ve got magic already?”

Arthur looked affronted, “No, I’m not quite that dim-witted. I was referring to the nymph bit.”

“If you could tell I had plant magic but not realise that I’m a nymph then I’d have to argue with you there. I’m a nymph. Specifically, a flower and tree nymph.”

This, apparently, was a massive shock to Arthur. He ogled at Merlin as if he’d just confessed to having fifteen noses. Merlin took the stunned silence as an opportunity to eat more toast. It was strange, he’d eaten so much last night but woke up feeling hungrier than ever. He chalked it down as too much socialising. And the heat. Not the fact that food was here, right here, smelling fresh and warm and wonderful to his greedy stomach.

Besides, he'd hardly slept last night, so anxious about how much Arthur's life mattered. Every noise made him quiver. Every rustle in the wind or snapping of twigs. At one point, he'd been sure he'd heard someone (or thing) out there, but when he peaked outside nothing was to be seen. Exhaustion and stress was bound to make him hungry.

“But you look human?”

Merlin wasn’t sure how to take that – what was he supposed to look like?

“Yes, well, so do they,” Merlin paused, remembering suddenly that Hunith was, in fact, a willow tree. “Or they used to. My mother changed form and I’m not entirely sure where my father is.”

He’d never met his father. He knew from Gaius that he had left shortly after Merlin was born, frustrated that his partner had decided to retire into tree-hood early. Honestly, his father never much bothered Merlin. Gaius had never neglected Merlin and, all in all, someone that abandoned their child wasn’t worth worrying about.

“Changed form?”

Merlin cringed, picking up a croissant. This was going to be awkward to explain.

“She may or may not be a willow tree.”

He stuffed the croissant into his mouth, teeth sinking into the crumbling pastry that flaked in his mouth. Arthur stared at him, either revolted by the speed in which Merlin consumed his food or astonished at what he’d said.

“Is there a chance that you’ll ever, er, do follow in her footsteps?”

“Dunno. I guess there would be some benefits – like I wouldn’t have to answer questions while eating breakfast. Then again, I probably wouldn’t eat breakfast at all.”

Arthur glared at Merlin but relented and was silent. For all of thirty seconds.

“Okay but- and hear me out on this one- cacti aren’t trees or flowers.”

Merlin sighed around his brioche. He should have expected this question sooner or later.

“Didn’t know you were a botanist, your highness. Long story short, I’m not entirely sure. Gaius said he figured that two different strands of magic would have the knowledge to fill in the gaps for most plant-life. I can grow fruit and vegetables too.”

He lifted a bunch of wild strawberries to prove it. Arthur picked one of them and popped it in his mouth. Merlin stared, not because he was particularly attracted to Arthur eating, but because a tiny fly had flown onto the strawberry on its way up to Arthur's mouth. He decided not to mention it and went back to eating his bug-free breakfast.

The silence was, again, short-lived.

“You don’t happen to have the ability to grow a bacon tree, do you?”

“No. I can do this, though,” Merlin said solemnly, pulling up a vine that grabbed Arthur’s toast and passed it over to him. Looking the prince in the eye, Merlin took a sizeable bite out of it.

“Very funny,” Arthur snarled, snatching the rest of his toast back and standing up. “Right, come on. Let’s go flower hunting – say, do you want to ask your chums over there about it?”

Arthur motioned to where the creatures were playing frisbee. Merlin wondered if this was all they did all day, or if they usually had jobs to get to, things to do. He would suffer if he lived in a society based on frisbee and resented that Arthur had called them his chums.

Standing up, Merlin was reminded why he had walked this far in the first place, “Fine, but I really do need to go for a wee first.”

“Sure, I’ll pack up the picnic while you do that.”

Merlin half-ran through the woods and, deciding that he didn’t much trust these woods, built himself a room out of plants to relieve himself in.

Returning to Arthur when he was finished, Merlin noted how to sun hit Arthur’s hair, highlighting flecks of it golden and…

“Have a nice wee, Merlin?”

Ah, ever the romantic.

They walked over to the creatures. The timing seemed to be good as the squirrel person had just caught the frisbee in his mouth, large front teeth clamping down and rendering the frisbee inadequate for their game.

“Er, hi.”

The deer woman halted in her chastising of the squirrel and turned to face Merlin. She looked apprehensive. The squirrel dropped the frisbee from its mouth and hung its head in shame.

“Emrys, and we see you have taken your human with you. Sweet. How may we assist you?”

Arthur was shuffling his boot around in the dirt, not used to being treated as insignificant. Merlin decided to cut the small talk.

“We’re looking for a flower, a golden flower. It’s not from the human realm. The magic in it has healing properties.”

The other creatures whispered among themselves when Merlin mentioned the flower, stirring up quite the rabble between all of them. The deer raised a hand to silence her people.

“The sundrop flower, yes. We do not suggest that you go searching for it, young one. Your destiny is far too remarkable to risk for a mere flower.”

The sundrop flower. No, Merlin had never come across such a plant, though it sounded beautiful from the name alone. He wondered what they meant by his destiny being too remarkable. Was his honey-making business really that important? Maybe Uther would consider using his honey at royal balls more often. Uther could only do that, however, if was alive.

“Might we offer sire another flower, if he is interested in them. We have a fine selection of witch hazel,” piped up the rabbit, one ear flopping over its face.

Merlin had never been a massive fan of witch hazel. It looked like a yellow octopus, waving its tentacular streams about in the air. Gaius sometimes used it for skin-treatments, though, so he was quite adept to growing it himself.

“Thank you, but no. This sundrop flower, where can we find it?”

“It shines where the sun is no-more, among the dark world of the fairies. We cannot protect you there.”

The dark world of the fairies. Didn’t that sound cheerful. He could picture it now – coffin beds, human corpses rotting in the kitchens, lights out except for the glowing eyes of the fairies. Wouldn’t it be cold, too, without a sun? Wouldn’t the flower struggle to grow without any light at all?

“I thought you lot were fairies?” Said Arthur, to Merlin’s horror.

Obviously, these weren’t fairies, they were far too friendly and weird. All of the books Merlin had read of fairies had described them as frighteningly beautiful, with the ability to change from a more human form to a small, lamp-like one that floated with ease through the air and tempted children out of their houses. Moreover, there was no mention of them playing frisbee.

The deer woman narrowed her eyes, annoyed at the judgement. “You thought wrong. We are the spirits of the forest, bound to Emrys. We hope that he may not slaughter us.”

Merlin didn’t really want them to be bound to him but whatever.

“Slaughter you? Why would I do that?”

The crowd of creatures parted and a smaller deer person, trembling awfully, was forced to the front. The spirit looked up at Merlin with large eyes but seemed unable to speak, utterly terrified.

“Derik here ate one of your mother’s leaves. It will grow back, of course, though we feared that you might have come for revenge.”

His mother hadn’t seemed fussed the last time he had seen her. In fact, Merlin had always assumed that her leaves were a form of hair, so a haircut was long overdue. As a tree, he could imagine that she was well and truly used to having her leaves eaten every now and then, if not by spirits then by real animals. He was puzzled over their harsh treatment of Derik, who was shaking more than ever now that his crime had been announced.

“You-er, you didn’t attack us, even though you assumed we were here to kill you?”

“On the contrary, Emrys, we protected you.” The deer announced proudly. “The forest is safe during the daytime but at night there are dangers beyond your imagination.”

What had they done? Thrown frisbees at any approaching threat.

“The human did look tasty and Smorfik here was considering snacking on him, but we ultimately decided that he was _your_ slave, your meal.”

Smorfik, a fox-spirit with pointed red ears and sharp teeth that came out past her lips, grinned at the prince. Arthur exhaled sharply and Merlin, almost instinctively, moved to stand in front of him. It would be quite the inconvenience if the prince, who incidentally Merlin happened to have a massive crush on, was eaten by a fox spirit before they even got to fairyland.

“Right. Well, thank you, he’s not for eating, Smorfik. Oh, and no bad blood over my mum’s leaves, they’ll grow back. We do still need to go to this fairyland place, though.”

“Yes, quickly,” Arthur added, looking unsettled and pale.

“It saddens us to hear that, though we shall not stand in your way. The entrance to fairyland is among the gorse. We cannot follow you there but be warned. It is a cursed place.”

“Horrible,” croaked Smorfik.

A cursed place. Great. Dark and cursed and probably mightily creepy as well. Then again, these people were so repulsed by fairyland that it did make Merlin wonder if perhaps this was all an act. Why, fairyland could be lovely for all he knew. Some of the people in Camelot would claim that neighbouring towns were cursed – usually, admittedly, if they had the plague or rat-infested streets. It was a frequently overused word. Besides, these people wanted to eat Arthur and wait on Merlin. Maybe they were manipulating them to _think_ it was awful. Maybe that’s why people never returned to Camelot, because they ventured onto fairyland and found it so charming, absolutely lovely, that they never left. Thatched cottages, he supposed, dainty teapots and rose bushes and a multitude of cats. Yes, _that’s_ what he’d think of it. Positive attitude.

Arthur seemed to have the same attitude, “I’m sure it can’t be worse than the knight’s bathroom. Come on, Merlin.”

The creatures looked concerned at Arthur’s order and muttered amongst themselves. Oblivious, Arthur was already scampering away, understandably wanting to get as far away from the fox spirit as possible.

“Yes-, thank you. See you soon.”

Merlin bowed and rushed after Arthur.

“Oh, we do hope so, Emrys,” the creatures called after him.

Arthur looked pale and worn out, hair ruffled and eyes twitching as he walked determinedly away from the creatures in a seemingly random direction. It was as though that one conversation had drained all the energy he’d attained from sleep. This adventure was already exhausting, and they weren’t even in fairyland yet. Merlin hoped that they’d find fairyland quickly, grab the flower, and then could run back before anyone noticed them. Wouldn’t that be great!

“Any clue where the gorse is?” He asked a primrose, noting that Arthur was about to walk into a bramble patch.

“No, but please, please don’t make me listen to you talk with them again,” Arthur replied, presuming that Merlin was talking to him.

He wanted to point out that conversing with the creatures had been Arthur’s idea in the first place, though he figured that that would not help matters. Instead, he focused on what the primrose was saying to him. _You go around the bramble, to the left, then keep going until you see a tree stump. At that point, walk up and you’ll be there. It’s about a five-minute walk. You might even see a hedgehog if you’re lucky!_

“Come on, dollophead, it’s this way.”

“How do you know what way it is?” Arthur objected, but followed Merlin regardless.

“The primrose told me. She said it isn’t far.”

Merlin decided not to tell Arthur about the hedgehog. He didn’t want to get the prince’s hopes up lest their journey was hedgehog-less.

“I don’t know which is creepier. The nature spirits or you talking to and gendering a primrose.”

Personally, Merlin thought that was quite an easy question to answer. The primrose had been kind, informative and direct whereas the nature spirits were… quite frankly, disturbing.

“Count yourself lucky, if it wasn’t for me, they’d probably have eaten you by now.”

A thought that made them both shudder and then pretend there was a chill in the air.

“I am rather a snack.”

Merlin couldn’t disagree with that, so decided to change the topic.

“Do you think fairyland will be as bad as they say?”

“Scared?” Arthur grinned. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. Fairies can’t be much worse than that lot.”

He wasn’t entirely convinced by this response. Whilst the nature spirits were obviously creepy, they had still given them a free picnic basket of food and left them to themselves over night, even protecting them apparently. Merlin suspected that they would face far worse horrors in these woods if they hadn’t been under their watch last night. The stories Gaius had told him – of werewolves and banshees and bats – were hard to forget.

“It could have been worse. You’re just saying that because they don’t like you.”

To be fair, Merlin wasn’t sure why they didn’t like Arthur. Yes, he could be an arrogant prat sometimes and wasn’t as smart as he liked to think but _they_ didn’t know that. All they saw was a blonde knight from Camelot armed with a pathetically small dagger. Seriously, Merlin didn’t know what they’d do in a fighting situation. He’d be useless and Arthur hardly had the right equipment on him to do much good either.

“Well, yes. It’s hardly an unreasonable response when someone tells you they want to eat you.” Arthur grumbled. “What do you think it’ll be like?”

_Positive attitude._

“Oh, blue skies and rainbows I’m sure. I hope we can make it back in time for your father.”

“So do I. It’d be a bit of a wasted wish if we didn’t.”

It would also put Arthur on the throne, something he doubted the young prince wanted right now.

“What did you spend all your wishes on? The ones the fairy gave you.”

If he had three wishes, he knew exactly what his first wish would be: for Dragoon to never die. Somehow, Merlin thought Arthur had more noble things to wish for though. Magical weapons or a stead that could take you somewhere instantly, maybe even a set of armour that didn’t make you sweat – though Merlin could guess that he hadn’t opted for that by the way Arthur kept swiping at his brow.

“The first was on Morgana’s flower, as you know. The second for my father’s illness to slow down, the fairy couldn’t save him herself, but that much was possible. The third was for love.”

Yes, definitely more noble. The first two made sense with everything that was going on. Merlin had assumed that the clothing would have slowed Uther’s death down anyway, but he guessed that it didn’t help enough. He’d love to spend time with his mother in her true form. Arthur’s last wish, however, puzzled Merlin. Why would he organise a ball and dread his engagement if he’d already found the person he was destined to end up with?

“You wished for love?”

Arthurs cheeks pinkened. They had reached the tree stump now. Merlin couldn’t help running up to it and standing on it, then using his powers to make it grow upwards, then fall back down. Tree stumps were a lot of fun when you had plant powers.

“Why does that surprise you?” Arthur asked, bemusedly watching Merlin.

“Sort of assumed you’d go for a spiky sword or impenetrable armour, you know?” Merlin explained, hopping down from the stump to continue their walk, spotting the gorse ahead.

“Strangely enough, I value my own happiness over a piece of metal.”

Happiness was not always love, Merlin thought to himself. Gwaine would have most definitely wished for infinite mead – and Freya probably would have wished for a first edition of her favourite book. Although, Merlin had to admit that love would be one of his three wishes, most definitely. Everybody wants to be in love. Everybody wants to feel loved.

“How did the love one work?”

A part of him dreaded asking, just in case Arthur confirmed what he already knew. Daffodils and narcissus twitched under the earth and Merlin quelled them. He reminded himself that jealousy was natural, natural until it grows into a flowering tree of bitterness and cruelty, so far away from the love that roots it.

“The fairy said that everyone has a soul. Even me, shocking, I know. The soul is, uh, it’s hard to explain.” Arthur picked up a leaf. “Okay, let’s say there’s this leaf, right? If we rip it in two, like so,” he demonstrated. “These two leaves would be separate souls – but they’re made from the same leaf. The souls do something similar. They break up before we are born, go inside two different people, but they still match up. She called it a soulmate.”

Merlin thought it best not to tell Arthur that he was already familiar with the concepts of soulmates, finding the leaf demonstration far more amusing. Gaius strongly believed in them – he’d be delighted if he knew that the fairies had confirmed that soulmates were real.

“Oh, that’s lovely,” Merlin sighed, turning to face the golden gorse to avoid Arthur seeing his distraught expression. The gorse was thick and spiky, prickling into his skin when he reached into it. He was hoping there would be at the very least a sign or visible entranceway here.

“It would be, if only I could find them.”

Merlin stepped into a patch of gorse that felt as though it was humming with energy. Apparently that energy came from a large nettle. Merlin jumped back as the stung hit him.

“Ouch! How would you know, even if you did?” He asked, curiosity getting the better of him. Excited by spotting a dock leaf, Merlin made his way towards it.

“She told me to wish into a dandelion, that the wind would carry the seeds to the person I was meant to be with.”

“Wait wha-?”

And that precise moment was when Merlin fell down a rabbit hole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *adds slow burn and soulmate AU to tags*  
> Thank you for reading! Sorry for the late update, was hoping to do one earlier but it's been a heck of a long week (presentations, illness, catsitting, work, coursework, you name it...)


	7. He had eyes like drenched violets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: injuries and illnesses alluded to (not afflicted in this chapter or to main characters). If you are upset by these sort of descriptions then leave a comment below and I'll discreetly sum up the chapter for you and tell you which bits are safe to read.

Falling down a rabbit hole was not nearly as fun as Lewis Carroll had made it out to be. For a start, Merlin was not pursuing a rabbit with little gloves and an anxious chant of ‘I’m late!’; the fall had been quite accidental, not to mention inconvenient. Merlin wasn’t even sure if it was a rabbit hole. He felt that any tunnel big enough for a fully grown adult to fall down was more probable to be a badger hole or bear hole. Not that bears dug holes. Whatever it was, it did not go straight down, but curved. Merlin was not, strictly speaking, falling. He was sliding. It was fast, dark, filthy and generally unpleasant. His trousers would be covered in dirt and yet there was too much speed for him to halt or even decelerate. The speed also meant that the journey was not long enough for Merlin to consider anything except ‘where on earth am I?’, ‘where did Arthur go?’, ‘where did the sky go?’. On the plus side, he quite forgot about the nettle sting that had prompted him to fall in the first place.

The sliding ended both too soon and not soon enough. Surveying his surroundings, Merlin concluded that he was in a cave. As caves go, it was a jolly nice cave. There were no screeching bats, the air did not reek of decaying animals, nor was Merlin plunged into impenetrable darkness. Unfortunately, the floor was cold – and very, very, hard, making the landing uncomfortable, but beggars can’t be choosers. Enormous luminescent crystals protruded out of the ceiling, purple in the shadows but white where the light hit, almost like a crocus petal. The swishing sound of running water confirmed to Merlin one very important thing: whatever happened, it was unlikely that he’d die of dehydration. Crystal falling and impaling him? Quite possibly. But no dehydration, not today.

Really, everything of late seemed to have a habit of presenting itself as wrong – strange knights, dandelion seeds, stolen honey, inadequate clothing, balls, poorly timed ‘I know you have magic’ – yet, the wrongs always righted themselves. The strange knight became a friend, the honey made an excuse for conversation, the clothing was fixed by his mother, the ball offered a lot of free food, the magic revelation gave Merlin a reason to accompany Arthur, and now, the dandelion seeds apparently meant he could be Arthur’s _soulmate_. (Unless it was all a coincidence. Maybe, just maybe, someone else had wished on a dandelion the same day, perhaps asking ‘who is the most useless individual in all the land’. Or, even worse, what if Merlin caught the dandelions on their way to Arthur’s true soulmate. Yes, that seemed likely. He had, after all, reached out for them, interrupting their journey...) _Anyway_ , Merlin decided that falling into this place, wherever he was, probably would correct itself like everything else had. Right?

A wailing noise came from behind Merlin and he got to his feet, ready to attack if need be. Or to run? Yes, probably to run. Then again, with a pitchy screeching like that… He’d heard about banshees before, with their long streaming hair and tear-stained, blotchy faces, knew there was no way you could avoid the fact that after hearing their cry, someone you loved would probably die.

“Merlin!”

Oh, it wasn't a banshee. It was Arthur.

Wait. It was _Arthur_. Arthur, who had just revealed that he had wished on a dandelion for a soulmate, the dandelion that Merlin might have caught. Anticipation sprung up inside Merlin, forcing its way through the tough stones of the cave in the form of anemone, white and baby blue and purple.

“Arthur-”

The prince looked at him with hopeful eyes and, okay, they had both slid down a tunnel into a mysterious cave, and were now covered in dirt and probably stunk, but this was still perfect. 

“Prince of Camelot,” A voice interrupted Merlin.

Merlin spun around. Why? _Why_ did he have to get interrupted now, of all times? A part of him wanted to cry ‘we were having a moment, get out’ at whoever it was that had spoken. But then he saw who it was. Of course. Of bloody course. It was a fairy. A fairy with hair the colour of cornfields on a moonlit night and eyes, deep brown and round. A fairy with lips the exact shade of a garden rose. A fairy in a dress that seemed to be sewn out of light and silver. A fairy who did not have mud on the back of her trousers or, Merlin suspected, a clumsy disposition to fall over and mess up everything.

“That’s me!” Arthur cried, a tad over enthusiastic at being recognised at last. “I mean, that’s right, and who are you?”

Merlin withheld a smile at how Arthur was so blatantly trying to contain his excitement.

“I am Vivian, princess of fairyland. Let me look into your eyes, boy.”

 _That sounded threatening._ Strangely enough, Arthur walked towards her, unconcerned, limbs moving stiffly forwards. A golden ring flickered in her eyes for a moment as she looked, intense and-

_It was magic._

“Stop.”

Vivian snapped her head towards Merlin, as though only noticing him properly now. She scowled at him. Merlin tried to glare back but was somewhat preoccupied with brushing the dirt off his clothes.

“Emrys. I wondered when you’d turn up,” her tone softened suddenly. “My hunting party passed your lodging last night. Alas, the spirits thought the hour unreasonable for a visit, else I’d have introduced myself then. You have done well to take Arthur here. He tells me that you are searching for a flower, the sundrop flower.”

Merlin was struggling to listen. Arthur was still gawking at her, mouth ajar, hands balled into fists. Was he still enchanted, somehow? Had the magic dazed him? Or was he just so in awe of her beauty (Merlin begrudgingly had to admit that she was gorgeous – radiant) that he couldn’t focus on anything else now?

“I-yes. Thank you.”

Vivian inclined her head. Arthur’s eyes trailed the action, fascinated.

“It is my pleasure. I will take you to the flower now,” Vivian decided and immediately started walking.

 _Wait what._ She was willing to take them to the flower. This was too easy, too simple. The nature spirits had made it very clear: fairyland was not pleasant and _even they_ were scared. This had to be a trap. Not that Arthur would know that.

“Oh, great. Isn’t that great, Arthur?” He said pointedly, half-running to catch up with Vivian.

“What?” Arthur slipped out of his daze. “Yes, yes, really excellent. Fantastic.”

He shook his head, blonde hair stained lilac as they walked near a crystal. Merlin avoided his glances, irrationally annoyed at Arthur for the affect the fairy apparently had. It was easy to act distracted in a place like this where crystals adorned the ceiling like a smattering of stars and puddles of water randomly emerged on the path. Vivian seemed to float over them, unbothered about the dampening of her skirts, but Merlin was fed up of his clothes getting wet, so scuttled around them warily.

“You are in quite the rush to get back in time for Uther. Poor Morgana. Magic can be a burden. I am sure you know that as well as anyone else, Emrys,” Vivian said, conversationally.

It was strange that she knew so much.

“Well, I guess. I have a bad habit of sprouting poison ivy in my sleep whenever I have a nightmare.”

Vivian didn’t respond but Arthur sniffed loudly behind him, amused. Merlin didn’t much fancy discussing anything serious in front of the fairy, lest he accidentally say something that would offend her.

Fortunately, the walk out of the cave wasn’t long and soon the bright light that had struck through all of the crystals merged with sky. Despite the light, it was cold out here, as though they had walked into a brisk autumn morning. The sky was sparse, so blank and bright that the whitest of lilies, the purest of snowdrops, would be grey in comparison. There were no clouds, no stars, no birds or movement. The sun itself seemed to be absent. Where Camelot stood, proud, on a hill, fairyland was flat. Falling down the rabbit hole took no time at all, but the city was tall and completely free of any sign of the forest, disregarding the rules of logic. There were no trees, no plants, not even grass. Crystal gates shimmered in the near horizon, behind which a castle with wondrously high towers and turrets climbed into the sky. Merlin’s feet felt heavy on the stone floor, his magic dragging behind him reluctantly, lethargic, unwilling to pierce stones such as these.

A moat with sparkling water, white as milk, surrounded the castle gates. Sparkling milk _had_ to be cursed. Merlin glanced at Arthur as Vivian led them over a drawbridge. _What if this is a trap? What if she traps us inside?_ Arthur, however, was already distracted, this time by the water. Merlin walked to the edge, hands bracing the golden railings, and peered down. Then he heard it. _Merlin, son of Hunith and Balinor, approaches the Fairyland Castle with the Arthur Pendragon, crown prince of Camelot…_ That voice, he recognised it. It was the same voice that whispered secrets in the stream by the forest, the one that tempted people to step in. Was this where it took them?

Arthur was leaning over the railings and Merlin tugged at his shirt, pulling him away from the edge. Vivian had not stopped for them and was striding across the castle courtyard. They hurried after her quickly, shoes pattering loudly against the stone flooring.

There was an assortment of people gathered around the courtyard, silently watching their princess with a bizarre vagueness about them, as though they were passively watching a scene unfold in a play. It took Merlin a moment to realise that they were not well. Not at all well. Some were headless or limbless, pierced by javelins, swords, spears, fatal injuries that ought to have stopped life. Yet there were no tears, no blood, not even on the more gruesome injuries. Others looked choked, necks bulging and faces blue. Another few were shrivelled, as though fire had crinkled their skin up entirely. And the rest might have appeared well, though their hands were jittering, or their frowns too deeply set, for them to be healthy.

Vivian trod on a little girl’s fingers. They crunched loudly beneath her feet but neither the child nor Vivian seemed to take any notice.

Arthur inhaled.

“Your people don’t look well.”

Vivian turned, surprised. Her eyes swept over her people quickly, dismissively.

“That is the way of the old fairies. Everybody has a place down here, whether they see it or not. It is an eternal way of living.”

Merlin would have thought the sentiment kind, perhaps, or at least meaning to be so, had Vivian kicked the girl’s arm out of the path while saying ‘or not’. As it was, it struck Merlin as strange how absent everyone looked, how pale they all were underneath this light. When his life came to its natural end, he did not want to end up here.

Arthur’s hand brushed against Merlin’s as they walked, probably by accident, but no plants came up – not down here. For once, Merlin wished that they did. It would have been a comfort to hear the soothing voice of a flower right now.

“What’s in the tube thing?” Arthur asked, pointing to a column in the middle of the courtyard that extended into the sky. It seemed to be hissing with energy, light squirming inside of it as though it was trying to find a way out.

Vivian touched it with one pale hand. The light rushed away from her, wriggling its way up the column.

“We garner the lost souls when night falls. They bask our city in a light far brighter than your sun.”

No wonder this place had no time for his magic; without the sun, it was a stale, contained, artificial land. _Brighter is not always better._

“Lost souls?”

Vivian directed them down an alleyway that slotted between two fragments of the castle.

She waved her hands vaguely, “The helpless, the weary, the crazy. We take their remaining light for our own benefit. Recycling.”

Their _remaining_ light. Merlin believed that if anyone had light inside of them, no matter how little, they had hope. You only need a small spark to start a fire.

“Wouldn’t that kill them?” Arthur asked.

“They are already part dead. Besides, what could possibly be better than living as a star, a sun, a beacon, in such a beautiful place.”

Arthur and Merlin exchanged a glance. Normally he wouldn’t object to how someone else perceived something. Beauty, Merlin believed wholeheartedly came in many different forms. How else would you explain how violets, roses and snapdragons, all different shapes and colours, were each beautiful? This place was beautiful too, he supposed, if you didn’t mind sacrificing vitamin D for some snazzy crystals. But to force someone to forfeit their light, their soul and life, and live down here, regardless of how beautiful this place may be, was unethical. There was something vampiric about the entire concept, that you would trade everything to live an eternal life.

They came into another courtyard. It was empty except for a bed of flowers in the middle, which seemed to be emitting a golden aura about them.

“Ah, here they are. The sundrop flowers. Are they not the most wonderful plants you’ve ever seen, Emrys?”

Merlin inspected the flowers. Their shape was similar to that of a lily, tall and magnificent. The petals unfolded like layers of a sunset, copper and crimson dancing around the edges that faded into orange and yellow. Elongated tubes of what appeared to be pure gold extended from the centre of the plant (the pistil, Merlin recalled from biology class) curling their brown-tips towards the artificial sky and leaning into the fake light.

The appearance of the flowers, remarkable as they were, felt dulled somewhat by the high-pitched sound. One quick look at Arthur and Vivian told him that they couldn't hear the screeching, so it had to be coming from the plants. Merlin’s plants could be noisy. They would whisper, chatter, sing and even scold when they wanted to, but they had never, not once, screamed. Not even when Dragoon nibbled them.

“They’re unlike anything I’ve seen before. Will they survive in the human realm?” Merlin asked, trying to ignore their cries.

This answer seemed to delight Vivian, who smirked approvingly at the praise. She uprooted one of the sundrop plants and carefully began arranging it in a flowerpot.

“Yes. They used to be everywhere, the sundrop flowers, grew from the beams of sunlight and stayed alive forever. But my people thought it unwise to give so much power to humans. We destroyed your flowers once we found that the soul light substituted the sun well enough. I see we were wrong now.”

She passed the plant to Merlin. Merlin privately thought this was a bad move. He was clumsy enough at the best of times – trusting him with a delicate and life-saving flower (in a rather hefty flowerpot, his arms sighed) was not the best move.

Arthur bowed to Vivian, “Thank you for your service. We’d best be going now.”

“I will assist you to the tunnels. I am afraid you will have to clamber through the dirt.” Vivian wrinkled her nose. Probably a germophobe.

Merlin glanced up at the castle, looming over them as they moved through the alleyway. He assumed that inside of it dwelled the noblemen and women of fairyland, though the crystal gave nothing away. It seemed to distort and blur, so that tiny white shapes milling around could have been anything – humans, cats, a trick of the light.

Back in the courtyard, the townsfolk were trying to mollify a large, white mare. The animal neighed loudly, shaking its chalky mane about wildly, startling the civilians to rattle back against the walls. The light from the tube of souls was illuminating her fur as though caught in the moonlight. Vivian strode towards it confidently and, pulling an apple out of a folded pocket in her gown, offered it to the horse.

“You must excuse the mare. She is not in any pain, I assure you, though she does delight in scaring the favoured, particularly if she knows I am nearby to offer an apple.”

Arthur rather bravely approached the horse, “How do you get out for your hunts?”

The horse bowed its head and allowed the prince to stroke it.

“That is a secret I am unwilling to share currently.”

This seemed a little rude, but Arthur merely shrugged, apparently unbothered.

Their walk continued. Vivian marching a fair distance ahead, clearly irked by the prince’s obstinance. Merlin fiddled with the bandage on his hand. Dread swirled about in his stomach; ink poured into water. He had a bad feeling that something was coming. Something really, really bad. What if this was a trap? What if the fairy was going to kill them as soon as they entered the cave?

As they began to walk over the bridge, Merlin looked down at the flower, whose screeching drowned out the murmurings of the river, and decided now was the right time. He needed to tell Arthur the truth. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and started to peel the bandage.

“Look, about what you said, the dandelion-”

But, as was the norm by now, he was cut off before he could finish his sentence.

“Quite right, Emrys.” Vivian said, turning to face them once more. “The dandelion is here, in my hands.”

Merlin was so startled by that statement that he nearly dropped the plant. Arthur yelped and reached out to catch it, hands brushing his as they collectively bundled it back into Merlin’s arms. That was a close call.

“Sorry, what?”

Vivian held up one pale hand. Merlin moved forwards by instinct, snatching her hand to examine it. A dandelion, fluffy and full, complete with a green shooting stem, squirmed about on her palm. Merlin frowned. His dandelion seeds looked rather pathetic compared to the entirety of the plant that lay against Vivian’s flesh. Behind his shoulder, Arthur’s breath hitched.

“Yes, see, Arthur. You are my soulmate.”

Merlin dropped her hand weakly and moved aside to let Arthur inspect the hand for himself. He felt stupid. Really, really foolish. Of course, Arthur would be destined to be with a fairy princess, not the local _stupidly_ big-eared beekeeper. It made sense now. Horrible, realistic sense. He had, after all, reached out to catch the dandelion – actively _forcing_ them into his grasp. Clearly, he had only caught a few of the seeds and the rest of the dandelion had made its way to its rightful place.

“Oh,” Arthur mumbled.

The prince looked strangely gloomy about the news, eyebrows scrunched together in confusion and lips twisted in a frown.

“You are disappointed because of the distance, I expect. But you mustn’t worry. Our marriage will create an alliance between the magical world and mankind.” Vivian assured the prince.

Arthur brightened up at that, “That’s funny, the fairy actually predicted that.”

Vivian bristled at the word fairy.

“She was not a _proper_ fairy, beloved. Just a mere flower fairy. We are the old fairies, the ones of legend and mystery.”

Legend and mystery? No, Merlin shook his head, this was _not_ right. These were not like the nature spirits who, eccentric as they might be, spent their free time playing frisbee. These were soul-destroying monsters who would ruin Camelot, snatch the light of the innocent and vulnerable to make their own world brighter. Soul destroying. _Soul_ destroying. Wait a minute. Did the old fairies even have souls?

“But-” He began.

Vivian silenced him with a sharp glance that withered all of his thoughts.

“Emrys has offered to return to your realm, to take the flower to your father and restore his health and inform him of our marriage. We must marry as soon as possible. Don’t you agree?” Her eyes glowed golden as she returned her focus to Arthur.

A stunned look returned to the prince’s face, eyes paling under the fairy’s gaze.

“I suppose so, yes. You are my soulmate.”

“But Arthur-” Merlin began again, distressed at how obviously this fairy flaunted her magic.

“Will be busy with wedding preparations, so you had best hurry,” Vivian hissed, sweeping her hands in the direction of the caves dismissively.

She took Arthur’s hand and dragged him back into the courtyard, towards the castle, but Merlin wasn’t ready to give up. Not yet. What would he say to Uther when he returned to Camelot? ‘Here’s a magic flower. Oh, and by the way, Arthur, your only son, now lives in fairyland with a fairy. A fairy that collects souls in her spare time and uses magic to control your son. Okay, have a nice day’.

He ran over to catch up, sundrop flower shaking in the flowerpot gathered in his arms.

“I-”

Vivian spun around, snarling at him angrily, “Am not in a position to decide that, as a mere beekeeper.”

Arthur ripped his hand out of hers, face flushed red.

“Don’t talk to him like that.”

Vivian looked taken aback by the outburst. The courtyard filled with the rustling of whispers from the townsfolk. Their voices were scratchy and high, like a cruel wind on an October night, scraping the earth bare of leaves. This drama, it seemed, had animated them from their absent states.

“I apologise, my love. I am only anxious. We must marry quickly and give you heirs.”

Arthur inhaled sharply but his shoulders dropped, defeated.

“I- okay. Merlin, get home safely, give my father the flower and rest. Take care of yourself. I’ll join you as soon as I can, don’t worry. You won’t be punished for having magic – nobody will, ever again. I promise.”

And wasn’t that the best Merlin could hope for? Wasn’t that what he’d wanted for years? Not the love and attention of a prince who was, quite frankly, miles out of his league, but to live without the fear of his magic being exposed.

“You’re sure you don’t want me to stay, or to come with me?” He tried one last time.

“No, she’s right. Father will be delighted to know I’ve got a wife. It’ll be like a ‘recovered from almost dying’ gift. And she is my soulmate so, I, er, I guess I have to do as she thinks best.”

It was painful to hear Arthur call her his soulmate. Rose thorns entrapped his heart like barbed wire. But Merlin couldn’t keep fighting. It was selfish, stupid, unfair, to ignore that the dandelions on her hands were not all the evidence needed to prove that she belonged with him. She must be his soulmate. She must have a soul. And he, foolish as he was, would have to be content as Arthur’s friend.

“I’ll see you soon then."

“Really soon, be careful, Merlin – don’t fall into anymore rabbit holes.”

Merlin watched as Vivian pulled Arthur into the castle, both so stunning, Arthur a vision of sun and she the moon. If this was meant to be, as it should, Arthur would be safe. Humans are flexible, adaptable, capable of change, so why shouldn’t fairies be the same? Arthur would teach her that taking souls was wrong, re-introduce sunlight into the land, create a peace alliance between the magical and human realms that would, surely, revolutionise the world.

“That’s a nice flower. I haven’t seen one like that in decades.” An elderly woman sat on the ground of the courtyard commented.

Merlin looked down at the sundrop plant and reached out to stroke along its stem soothingly. Its screaming quietened slightly.

“It’s from the courtyard.”

The woman laughed raucously, shifting so that the sword that was plunged into her chest didn’t make such a racket at the movement. The horse, still across the courtyard from them, neighed at them in annoyance.

“Not the sundrop. Those wretched things are the only thing to grow down here. The orange one. What’s it called?”

Merlin looked down to see that, yes, somehow his flowers had managed to force their way through the harsh ground of fairyland. He huffed out a chuckle, apparently, the stones were not quite as impenetrable as he’d assumed. The colours were ironically cheerful in colour. Marigold, with its rich layers of soft orange petals overlapping each other, round and full and warm. Spring crocuses, amethyst purple petals raised up to protect the auburn bud that sits within. And dear rue, with her modest, little yellow flowers on the end of long green stems that were currently twisting their way around Merlin’s legs.

“You mean the Marigold? That was an accident, sorry.”

“That’s it – my husband used to grow them.” Her face contorted. “Or maybe he didn’t. I can’t tell. Can you make more flowers?”

Now that Merlin knew he was capable of growing plants, even if it did come at the expense of heartbreak, he willed more to join them. A cypress vine, flowers protruding like scarlet stars, snaked its way through the stone. On request of his now-growing audience, he even managed a snowdrop, though that really did exhaust him.

“Why don’t you go up to the forest?” He asked the group.

“Can’t. Only the flawless go on soul hunts.”

Merlin scowled at that. These people, sprawled across the floor like decaying leaves, were not even allowed the freedom to go and feel the sunlight on their skin. Would Arthur be allowed to leave? The snowdrop withered.

“You don’t like it here.”

No, he didn’t much. The whole place felt false – the distorting crystals of the palace, the vastness of the sky and absence of sunlight, the way hunts only allowed a select few to leave. He couldn’t blame the sundrop plant for screaming.

“It’s not what I’m used to,” he summed up. “I don’t mean any disrespect.”

“We don’t much like it either. Where’s your little prince?”

That brought a small smile to Merlin’s face, Arthur would _not_ appreciate being called ‘little’.

“He’s with your princess – he’ll be your prince soon. They’re getting married.” He tried to sound optimistic, pleased, because Arthur deserved to be with his soulmate. It was just a shame that his soulmate was such a nightmare.

“That explains why they’re all sad, your flowers I mean,” rumbled a man who, it seemed, had suffered an unfortunate accident involving a fork. “I knew someone like that once. He only made sad flowers.”

Merlin had never heard someone refer to his form of magic so casually. A bitter part of him wondered if it was his father that this man knew, which was frustrating. He didn’t want to _care_ about where his father had ended up, not unless his father sought him out himself and explained his side of the story.

“You knew a flower nymph?”

The man apparently noticed his anticipation, “Don’t be getting excited. He’s gone now. _They_ noticed, see, how sad he was. If there’s a shadow in your soul, even a small one mind, they’ll pick it up and stretch it until nothing is left. That’s what they do. They empty all traces of hope and put it in their jar. Except he didn’t recover like we did, he died.”

That was an unpleasant thought. Merlin decided it was also the kick he needed to get going – he’d rather not be caught feeling rejected by the prince in the fairy courtyard if they perceived heartache as a fault big enough to excuse killing over. He carefully untangled the rue from his ankles.

“Oh, well, I should probably get going anyway.”

The people around him nodded glumly, as if they had expected him to say this.

“Why’s he marrying her anyway? He couldn’t stop looking at you moments ago,” the woman with the marigold muttered angrily.

 _Screw it_ , Merlin thought. These people had shown empathy despite their own afflictions by talking with him, it seemed only fair that he was honest in return.

“She’s his soulmate. I thought it was me, but I was wrong. He wished on a dandelion for love and it led him here, to her, and she-she has the dandelion in her hands. I’m so stupid.”

It felt good to say it out loud, even if it was to a bunch of strangers.

“No, you’re not. Actually, I think you may have been on the right track,” the woman leaned closer to him, as though sharing a deadly secret. “The light down here is so artificial that they can play with it, trick it. You didn’t hear it from us, but she didn’t have seeds in her hands before. She wouldn’t have been _allowed_ on hunting trips if she did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, hope the angst wasn't too heavy! Update was later than I wanted this week because I've been pretty ill but am now fully recovered


	8. Open afresh your round of starry folds, Ye ardent marigolds!

There is, in all of us, a response known as fight or flight. In this moment, Merlin realised that he was neither fighter nor flighter, but rather a freezer – which was apt because fairyland was deathly cold. Part of him wanted to leg it for the castle, drag Arthur out and punch anyone that got in the way, but the smarter part acknowledged that doing that would most definitely fail. And, therefore, Merlin stood in limbo, frozen to the spot.

He felt like a bee who had fallen, face-first, into the centre of a trumpet flower. Vivian was not Arthur’s soulmate. (Which meant. Merlin. Could. Possibly. Potentially. Optimistically. Be. His. Soulmate. – but, no, _bad Merlin_ , stop thinking of yourself) _._ The terrifying reality was that Arthur had definitely been tricked into an engagement with a fairy princess. A fairy princess who had mind-controlling powers and a passion for draining souls of their light. Overall, Merlin didn’t really think any of this was ideal. In fact, he might even go as far as to call it a disaster. A disaster that he could not work out. He missed Dragoon, who would usually glare disapprovingly at him when he was in crisis.

“This is a trap. Arthur is in danger,” Merlin breathed, splayed fingers covering his eyes.

The citizens of fairyland, meanwhile, were fawning over the nettles that Merlin had accidentally sprouted in his anxiety, cradling them and pressing gentle kisses against the green. Whilst nettle may not be the nicest of plants, it is one of the most universally remembered, if only for the fact that it does not discriminate against who it stings.

“You both are. You accepted a gift from the fairy,” Marigold woman murmured dreamily, her focus still on the orange flower.

“But- wouldn’t it have been more offensive to have declined it?”

“They would have considered that _highly_ insulting but receiving a gift places you in a contract. You owe them.”

A contract? Merlin didn’t recall signing anything, including a contract. He supposed that all gifts were a form of contract, though. The moment someone gives you a birthday present, the receiver must consider how much was spent so they can buy their sender an appropriate gift on their birthday. Even a get well soon card would be given with the anticipation that, if ever the sender was struck by illness, they should also receive one.

But really, Merlin thought to himself, if the fairies ever required a plant that only grew in their realm (apparently ALL plants except sundrops, Merlin couldn’t imagine that their vegetable intake was good), he would be happy to oblige.

“They’ll want more than a flower back,” a stabbed man remarked, reading Merlin’s thoughts.

“So, it was dangerous to take their flower… but I also can’t reject a gift?”

“That’s the gist. The fairies don’t play fair. They find ‘thank you’ offensive too.”

 _What?_ Vivian hadn’t even looked bothered when they’d thanked her. Everything thing here was upside down. Bad manners were good. Death wasn’t death. Gifts were contracts.

“Wonderful. What should I do then?” He asked, feeling more than a little bit exasperated.

And boy, the people of fairyland were not short of answers there.

“Destroy the flower immediately!”

“Turn the tables - give _them_ a gift!”

“Run away before they smell your fear!”

These were all rather unhelpful suggestions. Merlin ran his hands through his hair anxiously. It seemed that whatever they did, either Arthur, Uther or Merlin would probably die. If there was a way to sacrifice his own life to save the other two, he realised at that moment, he would take it. Camelot needed their prince and king far more than it needed honey.

“Okay, firstly I can’t see how any of these will help Arthur – or his father for that matter. We came down here for the flower, I can’t just _destroy_ it.”

“Aren’t you a flower nymph?”

Merlin faltered. Yes, normally he could grow a plant after he’d seen it. So, why couldn’t he just destroy this one? Why did he even accept the bloody flower in the first place? How could he forget so, so easily that he had plant magic?

He focussed on the ground, eyes gold in concentration. It took a moment longer than usual, possibly because of the absence of the sun or his own lowered spirits, but green broke through the stone of the courtyard and reluctantly pulled itself into a sundrop flower.

“But what about Arthur? I can’t let him marry someone who uses mind-control and manipulation. What does she want with him anyway?”

It wasn’t that Merlin doubted her feelings towards Arthur. Even when Arthur had appeared at Merlin’s table with a penis drawn on his forehead, he was still annoyingly attractive. It didn’t help that his eyes were stupidly pretty. And, yes, Merlin had to begrudgingly confess that the image of Arthur and Vivian was nice – they looked like a good couple. However, ‘we met because I tricked him into believing I was his soulmate and used mind control’ was hardly the most romantic proposal story.

“He’s the crown prince of Camelot, the king if their so-called gift goes up there. They’ll have the authority to walk, freely, in the human realm and take souls.”

Okay, so a _slightly_ less wholesome reason then.

Merlin’s fingers dug into his scalp painfully. If he failed in stopping the wedding between Vivian and Arthur then not only would Arthur be married under false pretences, also the entirety of Camelot would be at risk. Gaius, Gwen, Gwaine, Freya, Lancelot… even the people that ordinarily Merlin found annoying he didn’t want to suffer this fate. Not even the child that kicked a football into his honey stand.

Merlin eased his fingers off his hair and tried his best not to look like he was having a mental breakdown, “Do I have any chance of convincing Vivian not to… you know, marry him and wreak havoc on Camelot?”

The man with the fork through his eye snorted, “Not unless you happen to have heaps of fancy jewels or honey spare.”

Merlin raised an eyebrow at that, “Honey?”

“Fairies love honey.”

What were the odds of that? Finally, some good news. There was, however, one big downfall: contrary to popular belief, Merlin did not carry his honey with him all the time. At this exact moment, he didn’t even have a jar on hand, let alone enough to bargain with the fairies.

“I-I’m a beekeeper. I literally have a room full of honey _at home_.”

Suddenly, the massive doors of the fairy palace opened. Merlin turned to see the edge of a silver gown billowing out of the door like a poppy petal, heard the rising of voices from within, rising excitedly. He had dawdled in the courtyard for too long, procrastinating the inevitable, and to remain any longer would be perilous. There was no option other than to leave, not when Uther’s lifespan was running out so quickly. Arthur would not thank him if his father passed away because he refused to leave without him.

The people of fairyland stood up, tall for the first time since their lives had ended. They moved quickly, staggering through the courtyard to block the view of Merlin.

“It’s the fairy hunt. We’ll slow them down – run!”

Merlin followed their instruction, running as quickly as he could out of the palace courtyard. He dropped the flower into the moat as he crossed the bridge. The water hissed in displeasure, swallowing the plant in its vicious and angered waves, as it drowned it. Merlin didn’t have time to watch. He could hear the baffled murmurings of the fairies behind him, puzzled at the odd behaviour of their usually statue-still citizens. Merlin hoped that Arthur would be safe for a few more hours. Breath hot and heavy, he promised himself that he’d come back as soon as it was physically possible.

He was glad to escape the wide expanse of the land outside between the palace and the caves, to push himself through the entrance of the caves, footsteps echoing, crystals glaring. Gladder still to scrabble through the dirt of the tunnel that led out to the forest.

Merlin heaved himself out of the hole, pushing against the gorse with scraped hands as contoured with dirt as the trees that loomed over him, forcing himself to stand up. Time, he realised, must have passed differently in fairyland as it was night here. Stars peeped through the tree-tops, curious at what had broken the stillness of the woods. The darkness of the forest realm was all the more astonishing after experiencing the perpetual light of fairyland. It was peaceful, calming, human. He felt his magic rushing back through his veins, strong and sturdy, free to express his feelings without having to shove flowers through solid stone. An owl hooted loudly from overhead and, with a shuffling noise, Merlin came face-to-face with the deer spirit.

“Emrys. We notice you have not eaten since breakfast.”

Behind her emerged the other creatures, eyes glowing in the darkness. Merlin looked down at his stomach. No, they had not had time to eat. Nor would it have been wise, he suspected, to accept any food down there. Come to think of it, he wasn’t sure where their food would have come from anyhow, given that they didn’t have any livestock or plants.

“Wha-no. How did you _notice_ that?”

The deer woman bowed her head, “It is in our nature to tell these things. We see you have disposed of the human, if you have the body then Smorfik would gladly eat it?”

Smorfik crawled next to her and licked his lips, red ears twitching with interest.

“No, no Arthur is not for eating. Sorry, Smorfik. Uh, actually, I’m in a bit of a pickle,” Merlin began. The nature spirits looked at him expectantly, which Merlin took as his cue to tell them what had happened. “… So, you see, I’d really rather you didn’t eat him – ever,” he finished, feeling rather breathless.

“Understood. Emrys, it is not safe when the fairies hunt. You should go. We can guide you to your realm, where you should heal your King. The human will not marry until after the fairy has recovered from her hunt.”

Finally. Someone was being _helpful_.

“Great, and how long will it take for her to recover?”

He was hoping she would say ‘two to three weeks’, which would be time enough for Uther’s army to prepare to attack the forces of fairyland. Heck, even a week would be fine, most likely.

“They will hunt only until midnight tonight. We estimate eight to ten hours after that.”

That was quick. Merlin couldn’t help but think that they were rushing this wedding a bit. Most people took their time getting married. Merlin knew a couple in Camelot that had been engaged for fifteen years and still hadn’t tied the knot. Why couldn’t Vivian and Arthur do that? Fifteen years would be plenty of time. Less than a day was just unreasonable.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Merlin inhaled, “Alright, well, I’d better get going then?”

“We will summon the reindeer,” said deer lady, unpredictably.

Merlin edged through the gorse, stepping closer to her, assuming that he’d misheard her.

“The- what now?”

But Merlin’s question was answered by a sudden stomping sound. Tall, dusty brown beasts rushed towards them, gangly legs long and awkward, branched shaped antlers adorned with various leaves that must have attached themselves on their way here. Reindeer. She literally meant reindeer. Merlin tipped his face into his hands. Why was he even surprised at this point?

“My deer are obedient, intelligent creatures.”

Merlin nodded at her. He was hardly educated enough on reindeer to stipulate much of an argument against that. She gestured to a carriage that the reindeer were pulling. Convenient. The carriage was more of a sleigh, the sort of thing that he’d pictured Santa Claus riding, red with jingling bells attached to them. He guessed that reindeer had to do something for the other 364-5 days of the year – and being a taxi service for the spirits of the forest would pass the time.

Merlin stepped into the carriage, glad to find that the seat was comfortably cushioned. Perhaps he could catch a little sleep on the journey?

“You are to take Emrys to Camelot in a moment, my dears,” the deer spirit commanded her reindeers.

The reindeer rustled about, hooves brushing against the earth impatiently. Merlin did up his seatbelt, not much wanting to fall out of the carriage and get kicked by any of those hooves.

“Right. Thank- wait, you don’t mind being thanked, do you?”

“On the contrary, it is a great honour to be thanked by you,” the nature spirit beamed. “Now, off you go.”

And, with that, the reindeer set off. Merlin lurched forwards immediately. Whilst the reindeer weren’t flying, Merlin’s empty stomach felt as though it was. Almost by instinct, he sprouted some mint through the seat and chewed on it. The forest was no longer peaceful or pleasant and Merlin found himself staring ahead determinedly, trying to predict the way they were going in the hope that that might pacify his stomach. The trees blurred in his peripheral vision, blending into a stream of greyish green. All dreams of dozing off on his journey evaporated. He cast some vines to strap him fully into his seat but even that didn’t stop his body from shaking about, the cushion doing little to help the force of being thrown about this way. He could feel bruises blossoming on his skin. There was no doubt about it: this was a most uncomfortable form of travel.

The most annoying thing was that he wasn’t even sure if reindeer travel was saving him any time. The reindeer had such wide-spread antlers that they had to zig-zag through the trees, springing through the larger gaps, often at the expense of taking short-cuts.

By the time they had left the forest, the carriage bouncing over the river that divided the two worlds (Merlin wasn’t sure if the oak tree he’d been transported to when he’d jumped over the river was one-way or if the reindeer were unable to manage it), he had an entire herb garden on his seat. There was scarcely any red visible under the layers of lavender, mint and lemon balm, making the air at least smell fragrant.

To Merlin’s dismay, the reindeer did not slow down as they approached Camelot, making quite the racket as their hooves scraped loudly against the ground. The gates had been left open and the streets were empty because of the late hour. So, at least there weren’t any reindeer collisions. Moreover, Merlin was glad that he didn’t have to climb up that bloody hill, even if his stomach disagreed. The carriage came to a halt suddenly by the front of Camelot castle.

Merlin slumped forwards, exhausted from the journey, and let the vines relax their grip on him. What a horrible form of travel.

A light flickered nearby and Lady Morgana, tightening a dark purple dressing gown over a set of blue stripped, cotton pyjamas, stomped towards him moodily.

“What is the meaning of this?” she roared, torch flickering at her volume.

Merlin stood up promptly to flee the carriage, “I- I mean no harm. Arthur sent me.”

“Arthur sent you?” she moved closer, squinting at him. “You’re the beekeeper, aren’t you, the one he can’t shut up about?”

_Can’t shut up about??_

Merlin’s cheeks reddened, “Er, yeah, that. That could be me.”

“Where is he then?”

 _Oh no_. It was a dreadful idea to return to Camelot without Arthur. In the middle of the night. Where there would be no witnesses if Morgana decided to kill him.

“Little bit complicated. He may or may not be in fairyland, er, engaged to their princess.”

To his surprise, Morgana didn’t even raise an eyebrow.

“Typical. Do you have the flower?”

Merlin turned around to retrieve it from the carriage – and then remembered, duh, he’d thrown it into the moat earlier. He paused. Although _he_ knew Morgana had magic, Morgana didn’t know that he knew that she had magic. There was a high chance, of course, that Arthur had told Morgana that Merlin had magic, especially since she had already guessed that he knew about the flower. But Merlin didn’t much fancy a long and tiresome conversation about his magic if she didn’t. And it felt a little odd doing magic in front of someone anyway, a force of habit he supposed.

“Would you- would you mind turning around?”

Morgana complied without a word of complaint. Merlin cursed himself for overthinking and quickly grew the flower. It sprung through the earth easily, tossing its head towards the dark sky in delight.

“Thanks, there you go,” Merlin began, moving to sit in the carriage again. He needed to return to Arthur quickly. “That should recover your father. I-I have the seed for them, if ever you need more.”

Morgana laughed at that, “Saying you have magic is considerably less creepy than saying you have the ‘seed’, you realise that, right?”

Shuddering, he realised that she had a damn good point there.

“I’ll bear that in mind. I’ve got to go back to Arthur now but-,” As was the way with Merlin, he was interrupted before he could even finish his sentence.

“I’m coming with you,” she said, waving her slippered feet at Merlin to urge him to move aside. The reindeers glanced back at her dismissively.

It was odd how forceful a woman in unicorn slippers could be. Merlin didn’t think her shoe-wear would be suitable for walking through woodland. He also suspected that she would freeze to death in fairyland wearing such a thin pair of pyjamas and dressing gown. Then again, Arthur had worn his stupidly heavy chainmail regardless or the heat and didn’t seem to suffer that much.

“With all due respect, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“With all due respect, I can do what I want and you are _not_ going to stand in my way. It’s my fault he got into this mess in the first place. I expect he told you about my magic,” she spat, reminding Merlin of the terrible, terrible time he once stood on Dragoon’s tail.

He decided to get the whole magic thing out in the open, “And I’m assuming he told you about mine?”

“ _No_ , actually. I figured that out for myself. You were talking with my maid, Guinevere, once and a pink tulip sprouted out of nowhere. I assumed you had feelings for her but-,”

Okay, now Merlin had to interrupt. Firstly, what was it with people just noticing his magic and not saying anything? Secondly, pink tulips were a symbol of friendship, not romance.

“No, no, not at all. Not that there’s anything wrong with Gwen she’s just not _really_ my type.”

“Prefer big-headed blondes?”

Merlin edged to the other side of the carriage awkwardly, “I-uh.”

“Lady Morgana, Merlin. I thought I heard a commotion,” Gaius had appeared from nowhere, thankfully saving Merlin from answering Morgana. “Dare I ask where the reindeer came from?”

Merlin shook his head, “It’s a long story. This flower should heal the king. I _really_ need to go now, Arthur’s in danger.”

Gaius leaned down to inspect the flower, awestruck. Morgana sat down next to Merlin, pulling down the arm rest to ensure there would be no accidental touching.

“ _We_ need to go,” she corrected him.

Gaius looked up at the pair of them, astonished. To be fair, he was looking at the town beekeeper and Lady Morgana… sat on a sleigh… pulled by reindeer.

Oddly enough, it was not this that bothered Gaius. “But- it’s midnight.”

Midnight?! How long had those reindeer spent zigzagging across the woods? Merlin still didn’t really have a plan, more a vague to-do list – provide Camelot with healing flower (tick), get honey, go to fairyland, rescue Arthur and live happily ever after.

“Is it really? There’s eight hours, possibly, before he gets engaged.”

“We’d best get a move on then,” Morgana looked at the reindeer sceptically. “How do you control the magic deer?”

“You know, I’m not actually sure” Merlin leaned forward and patted the closest reindeer on the head. It looked up at him tiredly. “I-er, could you take us to my house, please? It’s outside of-,”

The reindeers moved instantly, Gaius’ waving hand blending in with the grey of the buildings as they shot through town.

“That worked,” Morgana began, then spat out a mouthful of hair. “Ugh.”

Merlin didn’t reply at risk of throwing up. He grabbed a hold of a lavender sprig and tried to ground himself on the feeling of it, spiky and soft beneath his fingers. Their journey was mercifully fast, the clear expanse of the fields surrounding Camelot apparently offering good reindeer travel.

Morgana eyed Merlin’s cottage with a green face, “Why are we here?”

Merlin hopped down from the carriage and willed a few carrots to sprout through the earth for the reindeer to chew on. He decided that, as Morgana definitely knew about his magic anyway, it would be silly not to do it in front of her. Moreover, it was nice, refreshing, to feel in control again, even if it was just to force a few carrots to pop through the earth.

“I need honey,” Merlin explained as he dug out the carrots and distributed them among the reindeer. He wasn’t entirely sure whether carrots were the healthiest thing to feed them but couldn’t think of a better alternative. The reindeers seemed to agree because they snapped them up greedily.

“What is that, like a stress craving?”

“What? No, no the honey isn’t for me. It’s for the fairies.”

“The fairies need honey?” Morgana asked, voice pitching in her confusion.

“Yes, I- I’d have caught you up on the way, but I felt a little queasy from the reindeer travel.” He paused, unsure of what the essentials were. “Basically, fairies really like honey and shiny things, they don’t like being thanked, and accepting a gift from them is dangerous. However, we didn’t know that and accepted a sundrop flower from them, which I’ve destroyed because I can grow them now anyway.”

Merlin stood up, satisfied that the reindeer had eaten enough carrots to last them a while, and motioned Morgana towards his door. She looked, understandably, a little baffled still.

“So, we’re going to win them over with honey. That’s your grand plan,” she clarified, surveying Merlin with judgement as she walked through the door.

“Essentially, yes.”

Merlin didn’t actually have a plan, but he didn’t think that confessing that would fill her with confidence.

“And you think that will work?”

He shrugged, faking nonchalance, “Can’t hurt to try.”

It could, in fact, hurt a lot to try. But it would hurt not to try even more. Merlin would rather die at the hands of a fairy than stay at home and live with the regret of not even having tried. Dragoon pattered into the kitchen, probably having heard their voices from her napping spot on Merlin’s bed. Gaius had already filled her bowl with more than enough food, but Merlin was relieved to see her anyway.

Naturally, Dragoon took no notice of Merlin despite not having seen him in some time, instead heading straight for Morgana.

“Oh, hello cat. Very witchy of you.”

Dragoon nosed at her unicorn slippers, purring her approval for them. He recalled that Morgana was the one responsible for the misconception that cats were signs of witchcraft.

“Arthur told me that you spread that rumour.”

Morgana scoffed, leaning down to give Dragoon a pat on the head, “He’s such a little tell-tale. You know he’s allergic to them?”

“Yeah, not that his allergies stopped him from petting her,” he pointed out, reasonably. “Oh, if you wanted to borrow some clothes or shoes then my room is that way.”

He motioned to his bedroom and then scurried into the pantry. The ball had certainly taken a dip on Merlin’s honey supplies but there was still a fair amount left. He always planned ahead for the winter and autumn months, when the honeybees were obviously less productive. This year, however, Camelot would have to suffer for the sake of their prince.

The unsettling image of arriving in fairyland, covered from head to toe in honey, popped into Merlin’s head. He started packing the jars into a box, hoping that they might be a little safer in there. The reindeer sleigh was a rough form of travel and he couldn’t afford for the jars to smash. Dragoon joined him, dipping her nose into the box obtrusively, inquisitive to see what her human was up to.

“How did Arthur get engaged then?” Morgana asked ten minutes later, now dressed in trousers, a shirt, loose jacket and shoes. It was unfair how much better she looked in Merlin’s clothes than he did. “Honestly, I had a bet going with some of the knights that he’d ask you.”

Merlin dropped the final jar of honey at that but managed to conjure a padding of moss to cushion it. He decided to focus on her question.

“Oh-er. The fairy princess has some sort of mind control magic. Not entirely sure how that works. They also have control of the light- well, I say light, it’s actually stolen soul energy. Anyway, she manipulated the light, so it looked like she had dandelions on her hands.”

He heaved one of the boxes up and cursed at the weight of it. Honey was pretty heavy. Dragoon thought this was a splendid time to weave around his legs, ever a helpful and affectionate darling.

“Right,” nodded Morgana, picking up the second box with an unfair ease. “Of course. The well-known dandelion trick. Works on all the men.”

Merlin steered himself out of the pantry, focussing hard on not stepping on Dragoon’s tail. If he did die in fairyland, he didn’t want her last memory of him to be one of hatred.

“Sorry, forgot to mention that Arthur wished on a dandelion for, um, love and stuff, so, er, the dandelion implies that she’s his soulmate. But she’s not. The dead people told me that.”

“… the dead people.”

Merlin groaned. He really did suck at summarising things.

“Yes, well, mostly dead. The fairies take people on the brink of death. They also replace sunlight with the remaining light of, er, vulnerable souls? I think?”

“Well, my future sister-in-law _delightful_. I can’t wait to punch her.”

He certainly wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of Morgana. She looked as though she could throw a powerful punch if provoked.

“That’s the spirit! Do you think this is enough honey?” he asked, brushing his hands against his trousers as he looked at the boxes.

“Sure, if all goes wrong, we can throw honey at them. There’s nothing worse than getting honey in your hair.”

Merlin nodded emphatically. He once had to cut out a lock of hair because he accidentally dipped it in honey when he fell asleep on a spilled jar.

“You know Gaius makes face masks with honey.”

“He does have remarkably clear skin. I’ll have to try that.”

One glance at Morgana’s flawless skin told Merlin that she really didn’t have to go to those lengths. He didn’t quite know how to word that though, so instead piled himself into the carriage.

“Alright,” said Morgana, settling herself next to him and pulling down the arm rest. “Can you guys please be gentler this time? We’ve got a lot of honey here.”

The reindeers looked at each other in dismay, as though they’d been looking forward to hurtling the humans about, and they were off again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you for reading. It's a pretty scary time for everyone right now, so I really hope you're all safe and well.  
> I know that I had this put down as the last chapter and I really really did plan for it to go that way... until I started writing. I think that the next chapter will genuinely be the last but honestly who knows. One thing I can guarantee is that it'll feature Arthur - I miss him too but didn't want to rush their reunion too much.  
> Thank you for kudos and the lovely comments last week, you're all so so kind and I really do appreciate your support.


	9. Leaves of three, let it be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: violence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies in advance for the typos in this - I'm 90% sure I've caught the virus as I'm not feeling at all well, so am writing this instead of doing uni work.

Apparently even reindeer respected Morgana more than Merlin because their ride through the forest was, shockingly, pleasant. The reindeers moved with grace, gliding through the grass, leaping over the river with eloquently. Whilst the blurring of the forest still made Merlin’s heart thump in his ears, if he closed his eyes and allowed a sprig of lavender to brush soothingly against his wrist, he could forget about the reindeer. He imagined himself to be a bee, gathering pollen and nectar in his garden on a warm summer’s day. He was flying. He was soaring. He was at peace.

Soon enough, Morgana was prodding him awake with a stick. Merlin would have complained at the sharpness of said stick but given that her touch was deadly, he bit his tongue and clambered unsteadily out of the sleigh. Above them, the leaves hung like black lace in the sky, stars peering down shy at them through the gaps.

“What time is it?” he asked, groggily wiping his eyes against his sleeves. Why was it that naps sometimes made you feel more tired than before?

“Do I look like a clock?” Morgana snapped, then glanced at Merlin with a softened expression. “Sorry, anxious about Arthur. You were out for a while… I don’t think those reindeer know the forest that well.”

Frankly, Merlin was too drowsy to care much about any snapping. His own chest felt choked with ivy from concern at how Arthur was doing, whether he was even alive. As king of overthinking, he knew how detrimental hours of going seemingly nowhere could rattle your nerves.

“No, I think it’s the antlers, you know?” he said, lightly, as he wandered towards the gorse to search for the entrance.

“Probably. It’s not light yet though so, that’s good. Right?”

Merlin tried not to think about how time passed differently in fairyland and gave her a reassuring smile.

“Yeah, that’s great.” He noticed the dock leaf and motioned for Morgana to join him, pointing to the hole. “We have to go down here.”

Morgana grimaced. “Are you serious?”

“Pretend it’s a dirt-slide.”

“That really doesn’t help, Merlin.”

Personally, he couldn’t see what Morgana was worried about. It was _his_ clothes that would be marred by the unusual entrance thanks to her changing at his house. Besides, they didn’t have time to be squabbling about this.

He decided the most efficient way to show her that it was safe was to prove it and crouched down, dangling his legs through. At least this time he’d know what was to come. Morgana was starting to say something, but Merlin ignored her in favour of letting gravity slide him quickly to the caves.

He panicked for a moment when he came to a stop. Light was pouring through the caves, as it had earlier, indicating that morning had already arrived. Then he remembered. They didn’t have a sun so why should night be dark?

In his anxiety, he had forgotten to move out of the way of the tunnel and a solid box thumped into the back of him. He scrambled to his feet quickly, hand massaging the area on his back that would, surely, be bruised.

 _Oops._ He’d forgot about the boxes of honey.

Thank goodness for Morgana. _On that note._ Merlin quickly devised two thick vines and directed them to move the boxes out the way, wincing at the effort it took down here to do anything magical.

Just in time. Morgana slid into the cave, eyes shut and fists white from being clenched so hard.

“Don’t like small spaces. Or dirt,” she muttered, pulling herself up from the ground.

“If it makes you feel any better, Arthur screamed the whole way down. I thought he was a banshee.”

Morgana cackled at that, laugh bouncing off the crystals eerily. She caught sight of the vined boxes.

“Could you arrange for them to take the boxes all the way down?”

Wouldn’t that be fantastic? Merlin tried to coerce the vines to move but they were hesitant, resistant, to follow his instruction. It would be physically exhausting to make them maneuverer the boxes all the way down – not to mention time deficient.

“I don’t think so.” He let the vines release the packages and picked one of the boxes up. “My nymph magic stuff struggles down here with the whole, er, no sun thing.”

“So, you’re basically a plant,” Morgana noted, lifting the other box with unfair ease.

Merlin frowned. I mean, sure, he was more chipper when there was sunshine and if he didn’t drink water he would probably die but… wasn’t that normal for everyone?

“What, no?” he spluttered. “What gave you magic?”

Merlin hoped the question wasn’t overbearing. Ever since Arthur had mentioned the curse, he’d wondered what the full story was. He’d never heard of someone having a fatal touch before.

“Got cursed by the blood of a dullaghan when I was twelve,” Morgana grunted, walking around the same puddle Merlin had passed yesterday morning.

“A what now?”

“Headless fairy. If they read out your name, your soul is so terrified that it rips itself out of your body and you die. Instantly. I, er, may have _accidentally_ killed it when I was twelve and, well, apparently now everything I touch dies.”

Merlin couldn’t say the loss of a dullaghan filled him with much sadness. They sounded like thoroughly rotten creatures, startling souls out of bodies, as bad as the fairies down here. Still, her age astounded him. At twelve, Merlin was barely capable of cooking a proper dinner, let alone kill a creature of such dark magic.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how did you, you know, kill it?”

“Earlier that day, I was riding across the river-forest boundary and I came across a bean-nighe, a sort of mystical washerwoman. She forewarned it all, said that death was approaching the castle and told me the dullaghan’s name,” she sighed. “I only meant to warn the guards – I didn’t know that saying its name would rip _its_ soul out, I tried to heal it and that’s when the blood got on my hands.”

“Curses aren’t meant to last forever. I’ll help you after all of this is sorted.”

Morgana smiled at him.

They were at the entrance of the cave now. He could see the crystal gates, dazzling in the artificial light, and the palace behind it. The palace where Arthur was trapped, waiting to marry Vivian. Merlin half wanted to drop the boxes and go sprinting towards the castle. Screw the honey. But Morgana’s presence next to him reminded him to stay sane and be logical. Panic helped nobody. Not unless it was in a disco.

“Remind me what you had planned,” Morgana prompted him, looking around at the white expanse of fairyland, fascinated.

_Planned?_

“Uh, okay,” Merlin began, deciding quickly that to devise a plan now would be sensible. “I’ll get Arthur. You- actually, could you talk with the people in the square, try to figure out a distraction for when we come out?”

Merlin wasn’t sure exactly what they’d be faced with but doubted that the fairies would be pleased to see him back. Especially if they realised that he was there to steal their princess’s fiancé. At least a distraction would somewhat divert their attention.

“Sure, I’m very good at making distractions.”

“Remember – avoid gifts, never say thank you, be wary of their mind control shenanigans, give honey if in doubt. Although I’m not sure if they work on us…” he trailed off. Would Morgana’s curse protect her in the same way Merlin’s nymph magic seemed to make him uninteresting to the fairies?

“Shenanigans,” Morgana snorted.

“Yeah, very funny. Also be cautious around the moat. The water is the same as in the borders of the forest. I think it reports to the fairies.”

Merlin shifted the box of honey in his arms to look ahead at said moat. Fortunately, the drawbridge was still down, allowing them entrance into the town itself. He made a mental note to watch out for that – he didn’t much fancy getting trapped inside.

“Is anything not evil here?”

“The people in the square, at least… I don’t think they are? Oh, and us.”

Morgana smirked, “Speak for yourself.”

They crossed over the bridge and Morgana stopped suddenly. Merlin turned, anxious that he’d missed something big but, as far as he could see, there were no fairies out at the moment. Her nose crinkled.

“Can you smell that?”

He tilted his head, unsure of what she meant. There was a distinct _lack_ of smell down here if anything. Not earthy like the forest or sweet like his garden but absent. Empty.

Reading his confusion, Morgana resumed her walking into the square. “Don’t worry about it. Take some honey with you, just in case, and go save the idiot.”

Merlin pressed his lips together but kept walking, deciding that now was not the time to question Morgana on her sense of smell. The people in the square were subdued again, the flowers Merlin had pulled up earlier gone. The column of soul energy flickered at Merlin but aside from that all seemed quiet.

He followed her advice on the honey and shoved a jar into his trouser pocket. It looked horrendously bulky – pockets were not designed for honey – though that was the least of his worries. Obviously, the fairies terrified him. He didn’t exactly plan on joining the people in the square, tired and barely human. But he had a mission and if it took sacrificing himself to save everyone in Camelot then he’d do it.

“See you soon, hopefully,” he called to Morgana, only just stopping himself from pulling her into a hug.

She nodded. “Good luck.”

Merlin ran across the square, determined to keep up his momentum. The doors of the palace were large, formed of an opaque crystal that felt cool against his hands. He pushed them open, mentally preparing for flocks of fairies within that would question him. He would tell them he was here to deliver an urgent message to the prince. He would demand, if he had to, to get to Arthur. He would not look suspicious.

However, he stepped into an empty room. There were no fairies, no obstacles, nothing at all. The only inconvenience was the tiled floor, blue and purple and white and so, so slippery, like they had descaled a mermaid’s tail. Merlin cautiously edged towards one of the doors at the end of the room and opened it.

Merlin entered a hallway with the same flooring as in the entrance and doors lining the wall. He could hear light voices, tinkling as running water might have done, distant and light. He moved slowly through the hallway until he came upon the closest door. Was Arthur through there? Was it an empty room, or perhaps a host of armed fairies? Merlin breathed in deeply and decided that he would have to use magic. He drew up a wriggling pencil cactus and encouraged it to sneak one green finger through the door. Conjuring the plant was tiring but at least it was smaller than the vines and Merlin had the anticipation of finding Arthur, the anxiety of how he would react to Merlin telling him the fairy wasn’t really his soulmate, flaring through him.

‘No handsome blondes or fairies in here,’ the cactus reported to Merlin. ‘It’s a dining room.’

Merlin thanked the plant and opened his hand. It hopped onto his palm, roots clinging around his hand like an octopus. He moved onto the next door. The cactus wormed its way through the door. There was a fairy through there, asleep in an armchair, but no Arthur.

And so it went until, finally, he found Arthur on the third floor. He was in a dressing room with mirrored walls, a plush white sofa and a rail of clothes. The prince was aggressively attacking a suit that Merlin assumed had been put aside for the wedding with a pair of nail scissors. He must have been at it for a while because the suit was in tatters.

“And about time too,” he greeted Merlin, dropping the scissors on the sofa.

Merlin elected to ignore him in favour of blurting out, “Arthur! It’s all a trap.”

Arthur, to Merlin’s confusion, looked more exasperated than astonished by this news. He had expected Arthur to at least ask for evidence that Vivian was his soulmate.

“Yes, I realised that, _Mer_ lin. Did you get the flower to my father?”

“I destroyed the one she gave me – apparently fairy gifts are evil, who’d’ve thought it – but I’ve grown him a new one. Come on, we need to go,” he beckoned him, sweeping his hands towards the door.

Arthur trotted through the door obediently. Merlin bade the pencil cactus farewell and they set off. The floor tittered beneath their feet and anxiety crept along Merlin’s shoulders. What would they say if a fairy caught them walking out of the palace?

“Vivian’s been asleep since they got back from their hunt. Did you know that they don’t eat down here? I’m starving.”

Their timing, all in all, was pretty perfect if the fairies were still asleep. He considered offering the honey to Arthur, lest the prince faint from the lack of food. They’d had a difficult day and, whilst Merlin himself hadn’t eaten, he’d at least had the distraction of reindeers and Morgana.

“We’ll get you food soon, don’t worry. How did you figure out that it was a trap?”

They came to a spiralling staircase. Merlin clung onto the bannisters as he stepped down, anxious about slipping over and making an obnoxiously loud noise.

“That’s the point, isn’t it? My soulmate would _never_ live a food-less life by choice. Also, I only blew away the seeds of the dandelion, the stem of it is still in my pocket. There’s also the fact that I felt absolutely nothing for her, which seemed a little strange given the circumstances.”

It was only the risk of falling down the stairs that stopped Merlin from removing his hands from the bannister and slapping his forehead in exasperation. Obviously, Arthur realised immediately that she wasn’t his soulmate. He wasn’t quite so stupid that he’d believe a mysterious and murderous fairy over natural instinct. There was just one thing niggling at Merlin’s brain: why hadn’t he mentioned it? Then they could have avoided all this dashing about here, there and everywhere.

“You didn’t say so at the time?”

They reached the bottom of the stairs. Merlin quickly worked out which direction to go and they resumed running.

“She was hardly going to react well to me outright rejecting her,” Arthur panted. “Besides, she kept mind-controlling me whenever I tried to tell you.”

A door opened and a tall fairy with a plaited silver beard stared at them.

“Stop right there,” he boomed, moving to block the corridor.

Arthur exchanged a wary glance with Merlin, hands inching towards the dagger that was presumably still in his boots.

“Er, hi.”

“You are not permitted to run on this level, and especially not in those ridiculous shoes.” He pointed to Merlin’s wooden footwear. “Did you not recognise the moonstone flooring?”

 _Flooring?_ Bewildered, Arthur snapped his hand up to pretend he was itching his ankle.

He coughed, “We’re awfully sorry, didn’t mean to hurt your… floor.”

Although Merlin was glad that the fairy was overlooking the obvious, he also didn’t think they had enough time to be lectured on the value of moonstone. The fairy, however, looked as though he fully intended on chiding them. Merlin thought fast.

He pulled the jar of honey out of his pocket. “Would you accept some honey as an apology?”

The fairy snatched the honey immediately and cradled it to his chest, face red.

“Oh. Oh my.” He walked away in the direction of the staircase Merlin and Arthur had walked down moments ago, muttering quietly about the ‘sweet, delicious, golden glow’ of the liquid.

Arthur’s jaw dropped and he turned to Merlin, aghast.

“I cannot believe you just did that,” he whispered sharply, conscious that the fairy was still nearby. They power-walked towards the end of the corridor, not wanting to enrage anymore fairies for ruining the flooring. “Is that _normal_ for you?”

“Wha-no. Fairies genuinely love honey. We bought loads of it down here.”

“That’s strangely convenient – wait, we?”

 _Oh._ Arthur probably wouldn’t be overly impressed that Merlin took his sister to fairyland and left her alone. To be fair, the courtyard seemed a lot safer than the palace, and Morgana had the whole death-touch thing to protect her.

“Morgana _may_ be in the courtyard right now.”

Arthur’s eyes widened comically. “ _Mer_ lin. I’m never going to hear the end of this. I bet she’ll tell father I got engaged,” he narrowed his eyes suddenly. “How did _you_ know that it was a trap anyway?”

_Because you’re my soulmate, idiot._

“It’s a little, um, complicated. The people in the courtyard – they really like flowers, actually, especially marigolds and nettles, they really liven them up, you know?”

They came to the next staircase and Merlin paused in his speech, pretending to be too preoccupied with getting down the stairs safely.

“Right?” Arthur encouraged him.

“Right- sorry. Well, they mentioned that fairies can manipulate the light and she wouldn’t be allowed on hunts with a dandelion there anyway, and then there was also the fact that…” he trailed off.

 _Also the fact that_ the undead had said Arthur couldn’t stop looking at him. _Also the fact that_ Merlin had never felt this was about anyone before now. _Also the fact that_ there were dandelion seeds on his hand.

Merlin coughed. “I, er, I. You know, it doesn’t really matter.”

Arthur glanced over at him suspiciously, then raised an eyebrow.

“You thought she was too pretty for me, didn’t you.”

Merlin averted his gaze, pretending to be examining the flooring as they power-walked. The fairy was objectively gorgeous, beautiful, especially when compared with Merlin. But Arthur, with his soft hair and sharp jawline was stunning.

“No. Not at all. Or, well, maybe, I-,”

Arthur laughed, lightly, “You’re so jealous. Don’t worry, I’d rather spend time with your dramatic and idiotic self than be with someone like _her_.”

Flustered, Merlin squeaked, “And that is very sweet, or at least I think you meant that in a kind way, but-,”

A door opened behind them. Merlin moved forwards with deliberate naturalness. If they looked like they belonged here, nobody would have reason to suspect. Arthur was still looking at him, brow creased, either not having heard the door or ignoring it.

“Hey, you there!”

They turned around to see a fairy with long black hair and deathly pale skin.

“We’re not running on your precious floors,” Arthur snapped.

The fairy was not deterred, “You’re engaged to the princess. Come back here.”

The fairy charged towards them, her black hair spiralling behind her like leaves caught in the wind. Merlin stared, mouth open, feet rooted to the ground. There was something enchanting about the way the fairies moved, predatory and fast.

“Fuck,” Arthur breathed. “Come _on_ , Merlin.”

Arthur’s hand grabbed his and urged him to move. Something clicked and they sprinted through the corridor, feet sliding on the smooth tiled floor. Behind them, he could hear the tapping of the fairy, moving far more gracefully than them as she caught up with them. Merlin tried to focus on the warmth clasped tightly around his bandaged hand and the closeness of the door that would lead them to the entrance hall.

They came to the end of the hallway and Arthur bodily shoved the door open, holding it for Merlin and then pushing it shut. The exit was in sight now. They bolted towards it, pushing it open and bursting into the courtyard.

The courtyard was in a state of anarchy. A few fairies were already out there, smooth foreheads unexpectedly creased in panic. Morgana had clearly found the stables because horses were stampeding at the fairies, neighing angrily. Behind them, she was throwing what appeared to be the shoes of the people that had previously inhabited the courtyard at the palace walls, making the crystal quiver and chip. Merlin had no idea where the people themselves were but, seeing a space between the horses, he tugged Arthur through without devoting much time to think about anything else. They had to get out of here. Quickly.

“Pull the drawbridge up,” yelled the black-haired woman.

 _Oops_. They sprinted towards the exit but, unfortunately, were too late: the water from the moat moved to lift the drawbridge up, trapping them in. This was exactly what Merlin had feared earlier.

“Where are the undead?” he hissed at Morgana. She was looking incredibly stressed out. Her usually tidy hair was frizzy, and her hands appeared to be smoking.

“I set them free,” she said, as if that was obvious.

Now would have been a great time to have more people on their side but Merlin also respected Morgana massively. Those people deserved to be at peace, and it would be unfair, inhumane, to prolong that. He nodded his approval at her.

More and more fairies were seeping out of the palace, spreading like weeds across the courtyard. A few of them moved down to calm the horses and guide them through to the courtyard. There was no denying it: they were massively outnumbered and would be captured soon. Arthur jumped up at the drawbridge, trying without success to pull it down. Merlin looked around, frantically in search for a hidden door – wouldn’t that be convenient right now – but no such exit appeared. They were trapped.

“The honey, Merlin!” Morgana said suddenly.

“The ho- oh, right, ahem” Merlin raised his voice. “We, er, want to trade.”

The fairies hushed.

“Trade?” inquired the fairy Merlin assumed was king. He had a chiselled face and sandy coloured hair, atop of which sat a sizeable crown.

“All this lovely, delicious honey in exchange for Arthur,” Merlin offered, gesturing to the honey. “It’s a gift.”

“Really,” Arthur muttered, crossing his arms.

The fairies brightened up blabbering their approval of such a generous offer. Their king, however, squinted at the trio, clearly unconvinced.

Vivian appeared next to him, still in her night-dress. “I’m not bothered. I would far rather have honey than a human.”

“That’s just rude,” Arthur said, shaking his head, incredulous at her blatant disregard.

“Would you rather she married you?” Morgana snipped at him, shutting him up.

Merlin ignored them in favour of listening to the king, who was in heavy dispute with his daughter.

“But- Vivian! I thought you wanted to marry him?” cried the king, hands flapping in the air.

Vivian shrugged, “Not particularly.”

“In that case, we accept the honey.” Merlin’s shoulders slumped. _Thank goodness._ “And you may have Arthur, but we never agreed on your lives. Leave the knight and seize the other two.”

“Oh, you really, really shouldn’t do that,” Morgana growled, taking off her gloves and hurtling towards the ankles of a fairy that had been sneaking up on them. She was a force to be reckoned with. 

Arthur moved in front of Merlin, dagger out of his boot and in hand. He looked absolutely ridiculous, Merlin thought, and would probably get himself killed. If he had a sword then sure, he could probably do some damage, but not with such a pathetic weapon as that.

“Arthur, get behind me. I have a plan.”

Merlin did not, in fact, have a plan.

“Sod off, I’m a royal knight, not a damsel in distress.”

Strange, Merlin was under the impression that it was him and Morgana that had come here to save Arthur, not the other way around.

“Royal prat more like.”

“I’m serious, Merlin. You pick flowers, not fights.”

Merlin glared at his royal backside. Oh, if he wanted to play that game then fine. _Fine_. He would be the floweriest hero Arthur had ever bloody well seen.

 _Up._ He called to the plants, anger igniting his veins, scalding hot. _Up_. Holly erupted through the ground, knocking several fairies off their feet. It grew, taller and taller, dark green leaves dotted with red from both the berries and the blood of those that tried to cross it. _Up_. Poison ivy, deceivingly pure green leaves, wrapped themselves around anyone any exposed bare skin. _Up._ Roses surged through the ground, entangling themselves around each other until a thick rope was formed. It swiped through the courtyard, sharp thorns tearing through clothes and skin. _Up_. A massive Venus fly trap plant, fanged red mouth snapping at the fairies, picking them up and swallowing them down. _Up._ Nettles and spiked cacti rushed through gaps between the stones, prickling the ankles and feet of anyone who dared to move forwards. _Up._

Arthur turned and yelled something at Merlin, but all noise seemed to have evaporated. All he could focus on were the plants and his objective; he had to protect Arthur and Morgana.

 _Up_. A vine sprung out of the ground and Morgana leapt onto it. Merlin wasn’t sure what her plan was – she seemed to be avoiding touching anyone, which was probably sensible as the poison ivy was crawling over fallen fairy bodies now – until she kicked her legs out, quite suddenly, as the vine came up against the column of souls. The glass shattered and out rushed the trapped light. _Up._ Merlin told it, _Be free._ But the souls didn’t need direction for that.

The world was gradually darkening. They needed to leave now. _Up._ Merlin used the last of his magic to conjure a large oak tree. The tree swelled in size before whacking itself, full force, at the drawbridge. _Up._

Morgana's vine swung back towards the drawbridge. She took the liberty of kicking Vivian in the face on the way, before landing land to them. 

Lethargic, Merlin’s eyes fell shut. Everything went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahahaha. Remember when I said this would be the last chapter (for the s e c o n d time)? Weeell. It's not. There's one more to go. However, I have written the chapter after this one already so I'm proofreading that now and it should be up later today.
> 
> I hope you're all doing well. It's crazy out there. Stay safe indoors and take care of yourselves xx


	10. A moonflower, just waiting for your light to illuminate my darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uploading twice in one day whaaaat

Merlin woke up to darkness and a heavy weight on his head. It was oddly warm for fairyland and the perpetual rumbling noise in his ear was comforting and familiar. Too familiar for fairyland. Where was he? What was going on? He moved his mouth to shout out but, upon opening it, realised what had happened. Dragoon was asleep on his face.

He pushed the cat off, much to her disgruntlement, and looked around. Somehow, he had returned to his bedroom. For a moment, he wondered if it had all been a long and strangely vivid dream. It would have explained the part about reindeer. But then he noticed a glass of water on the side-table, saw how carefully the blankets had been arranged around him, and discounted that possibility. There was no way he would put himself to bed so delicately. He untucked the duvet from where it had been pulled up to his chin and dangled his feet over the edge.

His cottage seemed to be empty. There wasn’t even a note from Arthur or Morgana explaining what had happened. Merlin felt oddly disappointed. It wasn’t that they owed him anything but at least a ‘we made it out alive’ would have been nice. It must have gone okay though, surely, if he had arrived home safe? He shoved on a pair of shoes and went through the front door to stand in the field, relishing in the breeze as it brushed against his face. The field was still yellow, grass mostly dead from the harsh quantity of the sunlight that year. Dragoon followed him obediently and even allowed him to pick her up… for a minute. Then she started grumbling. Stooping down, Merlin let her hop down, cooing as one of her claws caught in his bandaged hand, nearly taking it with her. He freed her claw and dangled the remains of the wrapping back around his hand. Seeing the seeds there felt too raw right now but he would definitely need to change the bandage if he wanted to keep it covered. A couple of wild days in a forest had left it frayed and dirty.

“You’re up, I see.”

Merlin jumped.

Arthur was in his garden, holding a watering can. Merlin didn’t even know that he owned a watering can. Normally he would just tap a plant and the soil and plant would be in perfect health.

“Oh, hi,” he patted his hair down, conscious that he probably had bed hair. “What happened?”

“You passed out,” Arthur said, putting the watering can down and coming through the garden gate into the field to fix Merlin’s hair himself. “We followed the souls out of fairyland and got the, er, reindeer carriage home. Morgana went home to check on things, but I thought you’d rather come home than have Gaius fuss over you.”

Merlin certainly was glad of that. The last time he’d been ill, Gaius confined him to his bed for an entire week with textbooks as his only source of entertainment. Moreover, Gaius wasn’t a fit blonde guy that would happily comb through his hair without any prompt. Merlin keened into the touch, looking remarkably similar to Dragoon whenever she was scratched under the chin.

“We managed it all then. No fairy weddings,” he beamed.

Arthur smiled back, apparently satisfied now with Merlin’s hair.

“No, not today. I thought I’d be more disappointed but honestly, I’m relieved,” Arthur admitted.

“About not marrying Vivian or not finding your soulmate?”

“Soulmate, although not marrying Vivian is obviously a relief too. It’s strange, when I made the wish, I was desperate to see a sign, you know, something to assure me that I was marrying the right person. But when I saw the seeds on her hand, I felt worse than ever. It was like I’d lost all control. Even when I remembered the stalk and realised it couldn’t be her it just- I don’t know if I _want_ to find them anymore.”

“Oh,” Merlin said, feeling more than a little awkward because it hurt. It hurt that he was too late, that Arthur didn’t want him anymore.

Though Merlin understood his point too, especially after Vivian. Without sounding too cheesy, there was a reason you _fell_ in love instead of carefully stepping into it. It wasn’t supposed to be planned or arranged in any shape or form. Love happened because it _felt_ right. Merlin hadn’t even known Arthur was his soulmate when he started liking him and that, more than the dandelions, was what made it feel magical. And he never, ever, wanted to put Arthur in a position where he felt obligated to like Merlin.

“If there’s one thing we should be in control of, it’s who we fall in love with. It shouldn’t be forced. I know who I want to marry and, well, I don’t _know_ whether or not they’re my soulmate or if they like me back, but that’s okay.”

Merlin nodded, “You want to marry for love, not destiny.”

He wondered who this person was that Arthur wanted to marry. Whoever they were, he hoped they would treat him kindly, would notice the way his hair glinted in the light and how annoyingly, incredibly brave he was. 

“Yes, exactly, which is why I, er, I was thinking you and I should-,” Arthur stopped, his hands snatching Merlin’s. “Merlin, this needs changing immediately.”

 _You and I should_ what? Sod whatever needed changing on his hand, he wanted Arthur to finish what he was saying.

Wait. Shoot.

His hand. His bandaged hand. Arthur was peeling the bandage off his hand.

“No, no, it’s…” he began, trying to take his hand out of Arthur’s grip, but the damage was already gone and the bandage, which was really quite gross in fairness, fell to the ground.

“What’s on your hand?” Arthur asked, sharply.

Merlin’s thoughts rambled like wild roses clambering around the windows of a long-since abandoned house. There was no excuse he could think of that could hide it now. He’d ruined it. Arthur wouldn’t want to be friends. Arthur would think Merlin was as bad as Vivian, staging and trapping him into marriage. Arthur would _hate_ him.

“I understand if this is just a crazy coincidence – in fact, it probably is. They happen. Sometimes. A lot, actually. When you think about it, life really is just one big coincidence, isn’t it? Like birth, right? Crazy. You wouldn’t even exist if your parents, two people out of everyone in this entire world, hadn’t met and fell in love or whatever and-,”

“Merlin,” Arthur said, effectively shutting him up. He was still holding Merlin’s hand, thumb rubbing against the dandelion seeds and brows furrowed in concentration. It made Merlin feel nervous and light-headed.

Merlin breathed in. “Yeah?”

“Why didn’t you tell me about the dandelion seeds?”

It was a good question. Whilst Arthur’s voice sounded steady and calm, Merlin wouldn’t blame him if he did get angry. He’d been honest with Merlin about everything. Merlin knew about Arthur’s wishes, Morgana’s curse, the pressure Arthur had been under to get married.

“I tried to,” he began, trying to reassure Arthur. “I _really_ did but I fell down the hole to fairyland, then Vivian said that _she_ was your soulmate, and we got attacked by fairies and yeah, stuff just kept getting in the way at the worst moment.”

“So, you didn’t- you weren’t disgusted by them?”

Merlin frowned. Why on earth would be have felt disgusted by the seeds? It was Arthur that should be repulsed by them. Sweet, protective, brave Arthur, who deserved so much more than this. So much more than Merlin as a soulmate.

“No, not at all. I mean- the seeds themselves, yes. At first, I was terrified because they just absorbed themselves into my hand and, god, for a moment I thought maybe I was becoming a flower, that I’d disintegrate into a pathetic pile of petals. And Gaius said it looked like dark magic, which didn’t help matters.” He closed his eyes. He owed Arthur honesty. “But as soon as you told me about your wish I- yeah, they’re cool. You’re, er, pretty alright. Do you hate that I’m, er, _probably_ your soulmate?”

Saying ‘your soulmate’ out loud, in front of Arthur, made him shiver, even with the unnecessary 'probably'. He braced himself for the worst. For all he knew, Arthur might not even like men, let alone Merlin, of all people.

“Absolutely. Worst news ever. I’d far rather be engaged to a soul-sucking fairy who would happily swap me for honey than you,” Arthur said sarcastically.

Merlin recognised the sarcasm, but he also knew that sometimes sarcasm could hide panic, veiling the truth amidst humour. All he wanted was for Arthur to be happy. That was it. Nothing else mattered.

“We don’t have to get engaged or date or anything like that. I’m not against any of that but I’m also happy to be your friend, if you’d rather,” he clarified, gently removing his hands from Arthur’s and looking him in the eye. “You should be with the person you love.”

Arthur, to his astonishment, started laughing. “Sometimes I forget how dense you are. I was going to ask you out regardless of the bloody seeds – literally was going to ask just before I noticed the bandage. I thought it was _obvious_ that I like you, especially after you’d spent time with my sister. You might be a complete idiot but you’re also kind and cute and I _love_ your cat.”

And, just like that, Merlin’s insides melted into gloopy, golden honey, as soft as the sun when it sets, sighing and drooping with a satisfied yawn into the folds of the sky. He stumbled over his own feet, legs wobbling from the shock of Arthur’s confession. It was all okay. Arthur liked him. Arthur genuinely liked him. Arthur thought he was kind and cute and- wait a minute.

“You’re allergic to my cat,” Merlin laughed, covering his face with his hands to hide the horrendous blush that was spreading across his cheeks because ‘ _I thought it was_ obvious _that I like you_ ’ was on loop in his brain right now.

Arthur grinned. “Think I might be allergic to pollen too. It’s not going to stop me.”

“That’d probably be romantic if you hadn’t insinuated that you preferred my cat to me _and_ called me ‘cute’, of all words. I’m not a puppy.”

Secretly, Merlin was wriggling with delight that Arthur thought he was cute and approved of Dragoon. He refused to date someone that had a problem with his cat.

“Yeah well, you’re already a mess - ‘cute’ had you nearly falling over. You’d probably explode if I called you fit or gorgeous or beautiful or anything more cliché. Besides, ‘pretty alright’, what on earth is that supposed to mean?”

Merlin’s blush spread down to his neck – there was no way that he could hide it anymore. He’d never had someone dote on him like this, never had someone gaze at him the way Arthur did. It made Merlin feel warm and tingly and horrendously flustered.

Still, he decided to play it cool, “It means I don’t think I should boost your ego. You might be good-looking but if your head gets any bigger it’ll fall off your neck and land on some poor, innocent flower.”

He could hear his flowers calling to him from the garden ‘we wouldn't mind that’. Merlin could think of worse ways to die.

“Wouldn’t that be a travesty?” Arthur said, licking his lips. His lovely, wonderful lips.

“It would. I also refuse to kiss decapitated heads so, er, I’d better make the most of your current state,” Merlin cringed even as he said it. He really, really needed to ask Gwaine for flirting tips.

Arthur, however, was greatly amused. For a moment, he tried to restrain showing it, but his body shook with the effort and soon enough he was laughing. “That has to be the worst chat up line ever,” he managed through the giggling. “I'm going to kiss you anyway though, if that's okay.”

“No-I mean yes, yes. I think, provided wanted to, that that would be rather nice.”

“Rather nice,” Arthur snorted, but his eyes flickered to Merlin’s lips even as he mocked him.

Merlin rolled his eyes, embarrassed at _himself_ at this point. He looked down at the earth, dry and brown and probably better at flirting than him. Arthur tilted his chin up with one hand, raising him like a sunflower pointing itself to the light. The other hand came to rest at Merlin’s waist. He felt precious and, perhaps, a little overwhelmed, to be held in this way, to know that Arthur really liked him. Closing his eyes, he leaned forwards and felt the soft touch of Arthur’s mouth against his and _oh._ This was a field of blue violets exploding inside of him, velveteen petals as gentle as the lips pressed against his. After a moment, he allowed himself to relax, to slip like honey from a spoon, embrace the falling sensation that came with kissing someone. This was soft and wonderful and bliss. Pure bliss.

“Does the flower thing normally happen when you kiss?” Arthur mumbled against his lips a moment later.

Dazed, it took Merlin a few seconds to process what Arthur said. He moved away a little and looked around. The field was no longer faded and dull; it was now a sea of colours, swirling about hazily, as if they had wandered into a Monet painting. The grassland was not only green, interspersed with daisies and dandelions, but was also occupied with asters, which danced about like purple stars, bright and hopeful. And goodness. There had to be hundreds of other flowers out here. More than Merlin had time to name individually but, he thought, the roses stood out the most. The silken soft cream of primrose, short despite her bulky leaves, humble and quiet. The blush of the pink roses, tissue-paper thin layering of petals, intricate and full, round and wonderful. Even the red ones Merlin usually disapproved of for being so cliché were beautiful now, scarlet, tall, regal, demanding to be seen and loved, poignant as ink against paper even amidst all that colour.

Golden dust, sprinkled from a gangly ambrosia plant, glided through the air – and apparently went straight into Arthur’s nose, as he had to pull away from Merlin completely to sneeze.

“I-er, I don’t know. I hope not,” he told Arthur, truthfully.

Whilst it had painted a beautiful first kiss, Merlin didn’t particularly want his magic to flare up every single time they kissed. _If_ Arthur wanted to kiss him again. Because Merlin would really, really like to but that didn’t-

Apparently, Arthur agreed, because he ducked down to kiss Merlin softly on the mouth again, shutting up his anxious thoughts.

“I knew I was a good kisser but really, I didn’t think it’d be ground-breaking stuff,” Arthur chuckled, gesturing to the plants. “Seriously though, you’re incredible.”

He kissed Merlin again, for good measure. Merlin didn’t even know how to respond to that, so he settled for a quiet “Thanks”, which Arthur seemed to find hilarious.

“You’re welcome,” his hand found Merlin’s for a moment and he traced the seeds. “Hey, I can get rid of those if you want.”

“Huh? Oh, sure.”

Merlin wasn’t sure what had happened to his brain, but it wasn’t cooperating with his mouth at the moment. Regardless, he was definitely happy to get those seeds out. It was unsettling to have seeds embedded in his hands, even if they did symbolise the love of his life.

Arthur pulled the stem out of his pocket and brushed it against his hands. There was a little tingling but other than that, Merlin didn’t feel any different than before.

“There we go,” Arthur said, kissing his now vacant palms. “All better.”

A few hours later, Merlin was sprawled across Arthur’s chest, Arthur’s hand trailing down his back comfortingly. Everything felt warm and bright and so, unbelievably, happy. And yet Merlin knew their bubble wouldn’t last and that terrified him. He wasn’t like the princesses at Arthur’s ball, elegant, knowledgeable on the appropriate etiquette to use at court, contained enough to not fill an entire field with their feelings. He was more than a smidge unconventional and Uther would not, surely, approve of him.

“What are we going to do about that?” he mumbled, half-sure that Arthur was asleep by now.

“Hmm?” Arthur’s chest vibrated beneath him, proving him wrong.

Merlin lifted himself up slightly to look Arthur in the eye, “You’re the crown prince. I’m a beekeeper. And a nymph. Camelot doesn’t even allow magic.”

Arthur pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, smudging away the frown.

“Stop worrying, they’ll get over it. I’m the prince, I can do what I like and if I have to argue with my father over getting that law abolished, which should be easy, by the way, considering that without your magic he’d be dead, then so be it.” He paused and Merlin felt his breath hitch. “Would you, er, be open to moving to Camelot?”

Merlin would be lying if he said the thought of leaving his life here behind didn’t scare him, at least a little. Change, no matter how good or bad, had that effect. Still, it would be good to move back to Camelot, to be closer to his friends and not feel ashamed of his magic. So, yes, he was open to the suggestion. There was just one condition.

“Provided I can take my cat,” he decided.

“Of course. You like your cottage, though.”

“Mm, I like you more,” he sighed against Arthur's chest, drowsily adding a kiss to his jaw to prove it.

Arthur squeezed him gently, “The bees can probably go into the royal gardens, oh, you’ll _love_ the gardens, Merlin. We can still visit your cottage on weekends, or I can move in and we’ll build an entrance into Camelot closer to here, get a proper path built or hidden tunnel maybe, that’d be cool. We could even build a stable and bring a horse down for when I need to do prince stuff.”

Merlin was so exhausted that very little of this went in, but he appreciated how much Arthur cared about keeping them both comfortable. A vine emerged from the ceiling, fragrant moonflowers with iridescent white flowers growing off it.

“We’ll figure it out,” he promised, willing himself to dream today, again and again and again.

“In the morning?”

“In the morning. G’night.” Merlin leaned up to plant one final kiss against his lips.

“Night, love,” Arthur said back, voice soft.

It might have been Arthur’s wish that caused all this but, Merlin thought snuggling his face in deeper, he couldn’t have wished for anything better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap. I really hope this last chapter didn't let anyone down, I needed some wholesome fluff. A massive thank you to everyone who left kudos and bookmarks - and an extra big hug to the lovely people who left comments (especially those of you that left me comments on multiple chapters, they really motivated me:) ). Honestly, it means so so much to me whenever I get a comment, I felt so so nervous about uploading the first chapter of this fic but told myself that if I got more than 5 kudos, I'd carry it on. 
> 
> I've really enjoyed writing this. I should probably be getting on with my coursework over the next month but after that's all done, am considering writing a sequel or one-shots (if anyone would be interested in that? let me know), or maybe starting a new Merthur fanfic altogether.
> 
> Anyway, I'll stop rambling now haha. I hope you're all safe and well. It's a scary time - reach out to your loved ones and stay inside, I'm on tumblr as lumosheart if anyone needs a chat. Take care
> 
> xx


	11. Quick Note

Hey all! Just a quick note to say that the sequel to this (Mindless Dreaming) is now available at (<https://archiveofourown.org/works/24153433/chapters/58161529>). The first couple of chapters should be posted already and I'm planning on uploading as much as I can, so check that out if you're interested/haven't already.

Hope you're all well and thanks as always for reading.


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